


Bent, Not Broken

by Blue_Pandas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Angst, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bathing/Washing, Bondage, CMNM, Captivity, Cock & Ball Torture, Don't copy to another site, Edgeplay, Exhibitionism, Gags, Handfeeding, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Kidnapping, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex Toys, Suspension, Threesome - M/M/M, Torture, Wax Play, chemical play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-02 01:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21153425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Pandas/pseuds/Blue_Pandas
Summary: Exhibition: the first magical kink club. Also a front for illegal activities of the mysterious criminal Voldemort, ruler of the magical criminal underworld.As someone who has more than a passing familiarity to muggle kink clubs, Harry should find the recon op easy. However, things go wrong immediately, and he is identified as an Unspeakable by a Dom who fulfils his repressed need for edgeplay.Captured, Harry must to trust the man who brought him here in the first place. He has no choice but to let Tom break him, and even then, he still has to face Voldemort.





	1. One Day

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by Lyn Gala’s Without a Net, a book much better than this fic. Unfortunately, it’s currently out of print, but hopefully it’ll be back soon. Any similarities are probably the result of me accidentally copying because I wrote this after obsessing over that book for a week 
> 
> Betaed by the lovely [trashgoblinwizardparty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashgoblinwizardparty).Thank you to the tomarry writing discord for staying around for the livewrite in the first scene!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Non-Con, Bondage, Gags, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex Toys, CMNM, Cock & Ball Torture, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Torture, Impact Play, Aftercare, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Handfeeding, Kidnapping, and Captivity

The thing he could learn to hate about Doms, Harry thought, was how good they were at bondage. Sure, it was nice when Harry wanted to feel secure and controlled, but times like this just proved how much of a pain in the arse someone with an exceptional knowledge of ropes and knots could be.

With the blindfold over his eyes, Harry couldn’t get a good sense of the knots holding his arms at his side, secure to the chair. The soft earplugs blocking out all sounds didn’t help with the disorientation either. 

He wiggled his fingers a little, trying to see if he could get the knots to loosen up. No luck. They held firm, but at least they didn’t cut off his circulation. Harry groaned and tilted his head back. The chair wasn’t large enough for him to rest his head against the back, and his neck muscles ached from the effort of holding his head straight. 

They didn’t even have the decency to take off the more irritating parts of the server uniform. His mouth was painfully dry from the gag sucking up his saliva, his arse felt uncomfortably full from the large plug inserted inside, and his cock was half-hard from both the cock ring holding him captive and the stimulation every time he clenched down reflexively.

Years of training and a natural sense of a Dom’s presence told Harry he was no longer alone in this room though he heard no scratch of a door opening nor the crack of Apparation. Cool hands ran along his body, sliding past the rope. The Dom was checking his circulation to make sure the rope wasn’t going to do permanent damage. The action was slightly relieving; they wouldn’t check if they were going to kill him, right? 

A small part of Harry hoped this was a really intense roleplay, but he knew better. Exhibitory wasn’t a club where they would jump straight into a scene without prior discussion with the sub over limits. This was the type of club that made Harry roll his eyes from the constant need to check whether he needed to use his safe word, not one of those underground clubs he had sought out in his wild days when he had been chasing for something he couldn’t name.

Perhaps if he got out of this alive, he would stop cursing his younger self’s stupidity. 

“Hello?” Harry tried. The gag was a strip of cloth in his mouth and wound around his head. It didn’t trap his words, and he could speak even though his words would come out a bit mangled. It was weird to speak without being able to hear his own voice, and he couldn’t tell if he had only mouthed the word or spoken aloud. “Please, whoever you are, please let me go. I swear I won’t tell anyone what happened here. I didn’t see anything. Please.” He summoned tears but the blindfold soaked them up before they could roll down his face pitifully. 

If there was a response, he couldn’t hear it.

Two strong pairs of arms lifted him up, and Harry started at the knowledge that another person was in the room, one he hadn’t sensed. They manoeuvred him to the floor on his front. A set of hands undid the chastity bondage, and Harry relaxed at the sudden freedom. The plug was removed from his arse. The lube used to insert it had long since dried, and the drag against his walls was an unwelcome pleasure that went straight to his cock, which apparently hadn’t gotten the message that this was a bad situation.

Just as he thought he would be freed, two fingers slick with fresh lube slid into his loose hole. They worked him open clinically, and the plug was inserted back in. They flipped him to his front and checked the fit of the cock ring around his cock for chafing.

Once they were sure everything was fine—or as fine as things could be in this situation—they sat him back on the chair again. A set of hands worked the gag free, and Harry sighed in relief as his jaw finally relaxed. 

Something pressed against his lips. A straw, he realised. He wrapped his lips around the plastic and sucked. The water soothed his parched throat, and he drank as fast as he could in fear that they would take it away. A hand carded through his hair, and Harry instinctively leaned into it. The slight comfort after Merlin knew how long he had been here was intoxicating, and he wanted more.

After too short a time, the hand left him. Hands worked the gag into his mouth again before Harry could protest, and the door shut once more. 

This time, he was sure someone remained. Perhaps they had been here even before, only he hadn’t sensed them. It was protocol to never leave a sub tied up and alone. 

Then again, it was also protocol to never use a sub against his will, and Harry was pretty unwilling here. 

The earplugs were removed. Faint sounds felt sharper, and his head hurt as he struggled to reorient himself. 

“Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter. After you graduated from Hogwarts, you pursued a mastery in spell crafting. Or so your official file says. But we both know that’s not true,” a masculine voice said. 

A sudden chill made him shiver uncontrollably. Harry whimpered as loud as he could with the gag. “It is!” he protested, his voice muffled and words distorted but understandable. “I swear.” 

A sudden pain through his cock made Harry jerk and he dropped his head back as he tried to arch his back and ride the wave of pain. The arsehole had slapped his cock, and Merlin help him, a part of him _liked it._ Damn the masochist in him.

“Don’t lie to me, darling,” the man said. “The Department of Mysteries recruited you straight out of Hogwarts. They probably celebrated when you said yes. Getting such a high-profile wizard, someone from a family in the Book of Gold, would have boosted their funding for years.” 

“You’re confused. I work for a private spell crafting company. Please, you’re thinking of someone else,” Harry begged as his mind rifled through his list of co-workers. One of them must have given him up. There was no way an outsider could know who his employers were. 

The plug in his arse came to life, vibrating right against his prostate. Harry sank his teeth into the gag, trying to suppress a moan as his cock tried to harden in the cock ring. Another slap of his cock sent his nerves alight, the pain mixing with the pleasure to send him flying even higher. 

The ropes held firm as Harry tried to squirm and flee. Whoever had tied him had done it so well that even twisting and struggling didn’t help, nor did the ropes bite into his skin and create burns. An idiotic part of his brain wanted to spend some quality time with the rigger and see what else they could do. If asked, Harry would blame the years of quidditch from Hogwarts as the cause of his lack of self-preservation. 

The vibrator came to a stop, and Harry slumped down, gasping for air. His cock pressed uncomfortably against the cock ring, and Merlin, he wanted to come. 

“Lie to me again, and I’ll turn on the vibrator for an hour. We’ll see if you’re ready to talk then,” the man said calmly. “Your history is of no concern to me.” 

“Then why are you asking?” Harry snarked and instantly regretted it when the palm slapped his cock again.

“Why did the Department of Mysteries send an agent undercover at Exhibitory?” 

“I’m not here undercover.” Harry shouted as the vibrator came to life in his arse once more, even stronger than before. The leather ring bit into his straining cock, preventing him from fully hardening. Once in a while, the arsehole would switch up the dial. At times, Harry thought he could breathe and think through the pleasure, but then, the man would suddenly up the setting, and Harry would scream through the gag, sobbing as his orgasm remained out of reach. He tried to beg through the gag for relief or mercy, but whatever could be said about the bastard holding him prisoner, he wasn’t a liar. 

The hour stretched into eternity, and he thought he would go mad from pain and pleasure before it was over. Beads of sweat rolled down his body, and the blindfold became soaked with tears. The increased weight pulled the fabric slightly down his face, and he could see slivers of light if he rolled his eyes up. 

Finally, the vibrations ceased. A hand stroked his hair and he cried from relief. 

“Why did the Department of Mysteries send an agent undercover at Exhibitory?” the man repeated, his lips brushing against Harry’s ears as he spoke. 

A part of him screamed at him to tell the truth, but Harry couldn’t. His life was not worth those who would die because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 

“I’m not undercover,” he whispered and braced himself for another hour of agony and denied pleasure. 

But the vibrator stayed still in him. The man ran a cool hand down his side, a soothing motion that Harry couldn’t help but lean into. 

“I do love it when they put you through anti-interrogation training,” the man said.

Harry choked back a hysterical laugh. Anti-interrogation training? More like years of exploring the world of kink and searching for clubs that matched his preferences. The experience that had fuelled his courage to come here undercover would be the same one to kill him. 

A sudden press of metal against skin made Harry flinch, but the man didn’t threaten him with a blade. Instead, he worked it through the ropes, slicing through the hemp easily. The moment Harry’s hands were free, the man secured them with leather cuffs closely chained to each other. He removed the blindfold and tossed it off to the side.

His captor lifted Harry with ease and carried him across the room, setting him down on a small bed in the corner. Harry relaxed into the cool sheets and sighed as the man worked a warm washcloth over his bare skin, cleaning him of sweat, lube, and dried pre-come.

“This is going to be uncomfortable,” the man warned. Before Harry could ask, he felt the press of a wand against his cock. A sudden sharp coldness made him flinch, and he tried to squirm away, but the man’s free arm held him in place.

His cock softened, and when he finally no longer wanted to come, the man worked the cock ring free. He removed the vibrator and undid the gag, leaving Harry only in the cuffs. 

This would be the best time to try to run. 

But Harry didn’t know where he was or how many people stood between him and freedom. Even worse, he had no wand, and his captor could stun him before he even got to the door. No, he needed to play this wisely and bide his time. 

He stayed in place, and the man stroked Harry’s nude body with his hands. It wasn’t sexual, but it was intimate, and Harry nearly cried when he realised what was happening. Aftercare. His captor was a Dom performing aftercare as though this were a really intense scene and Harry was his sub. 

Why was it everything Harry had ever wanted and never thought he would have here in the worst situation possible? 

“Shh,” the man murmured. “Drink.” He sat Harry up and held a glass of water with a straw to Harry’s mouth. 

Harry sucked vigorously. The man set aside the glass when Harry finished it and continued petting Harry. Slowly, his limbs began to feel like lead, and against his will, Harry’s eyes shut. 

“You drugged me,” he accused, and then, he remembered nothing else.

* * *

When Harry woke up, he was unbound in a cell. It appeared to be a simple grey room with two brown doors at first. Someone had placed him on a small bed in the corner of the small room. It had impersonal white sheets and a white duvet that he had kicked to the ground in his drugged sleep. A dark brown dresser was pushed up against the wall facing him. Dove grey curtains covering a window brushed the top of the dresser. Harry swung his legs off the bed and saw that someone had dressed him in white shirt and trousers. He set the violation aside and immediately pulled the curtains open, intending to get out of here once and for all.

There were bars on the window. They hadn’t bothered to set wards against him to imprison him. No, they had actually placed fucking bars on the window. He touched it in shock to make sure it wasn’t a glamour. Nope. Actual metal bars. 

Harry wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but it didn’t take a genius to understand what they were doing. The painted grey walls, hospital white sheets, and bars all served to tell a story. He was their prisoner, at the mercy of whatever they wanted to do.

He tried both doors even though he expected them to be locked, but to his surprise, only one was. The other opened up to a loo and small shower. The sudden relief of knowing they weren’t going to strip away his privacy and cleanliness made him slump in relief, and he quickly turned on the shower and stripped, making sure to hang the shirt and trousers up in case there weren’t other sets.

The man had cleaned him last night, but that didn’t erase the need for a hot shower and soap. Harry sighed in bliss as warm water rained down on him, and he gave himself a moment to relax. As the water trickled down his arse, the discomfort of his hole reminded him of what happened yesterday, and he inserted a finger as he tried to check for tearing. 

Nothing but a slight soreness.

Harry cleaned his hands with soap before scrubbing his hair furiously with the available shampoo and soaping his body. Working for the DOM had trained him to be fast, and Harry was done in two minutes. He towelled off his body and dressed in the same clothes, before stepping into the room. 

The man from yesterday laid on his bed, reading a book. He looked up at Harry’s arrival and ran his eyes down Harry’s body. Harry crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

“I see you’re settling in well,” the man said.

Harry flinched, taking a step back before he could control himself. His cock throbbed at the memory of the orgasm this man denied him, and he was tempted to flee back into the bathroom. 

Unreasonable. He was being unreasonable. That was the panic talking, and if he let panic rule him, he would never be able to escape. “Where am I? Why did you bring me here? Please, if you let me go, I won’t say anything, I swear. Or if you want a ransom, my parents will pay.” Harry didn’t look forward to telling his parents what he had actually been doing with his life, but he would prefer that to the torment this man could deliver. 

“There are some rules you will obey while you are here,” the man continued as though Harry hadn’t spoken. “One, you will only speak when a question is directed at you, when you are requesting permission, or when you need to clarify an order. Two, you will not lie. Three, privileges will be granted upon good behaviour and taken away upon bad behaviour. Right now, this room is your privilege. In here, you may act as you wish as long as it does not violate a rule. If you misbehave, I have no problem placing you in a cage on my floor. Four, you will address me as ‘trainer’ or ‘Tom.’ Do you understand these rules.” The tone made it clear this was not a question despite the phrasing.

“Yes, trainer,” Harry murmured. He would play nice until he knew more, and then he would escape, find the DOM, and get this bastard arrested. 

“Interesting that you would make that choice.” Tom’s lips curved into a smile. “Welcome to your new home. Come.” Tom stood up from the bed and stalked towards the other door. He opened it, and Harry hurried after him quickly.

Adrenaline coursed through him, and he couldn’t help but flinch at shadows despite how nice the mansion looked at first with its ornate chandeliers and fine carpets. There had been reports that illegal activities were happening in the back rooms of Exhibitory, shielded by the privacy the first wizarding kink club demanded from its patrons. Anyone who tried to investigate disappeared, never to be seen again. Magic offered too many ways to dispose of bodies easily, and the DOM couldn’t even begin to guess what had happened to their agents.

His backup hadn’t come to his aid, so Tom must have evaded the team somehow. He had no panic ward tattooed into his skin—too easily spotted when nude. That meant no exit plan, no exfil team on standby, nothing but his wits. 

This was, Harry thought, seriously going to suck.

Harry mentally noted his surroundings as they passed through the compound. Hallway, left turn, another hallway. Several doors, but all closed. Staircase. They went down a storey, and Tom turned down another hall. At the end of the hall, they entered a dining hall. Someone sat at the head of the table, eating breakfast. 

“Ah, Tom,” the man said, his voice high-pitched and cold, grating Harry’s nerves. 

“Voldemort,” Tom greeted. 

Harry nearly stumbled and careened into Tom. Voldemort. The elusive leader they had failed to gain intel on for years. This was the closest any agent had ever gotten to the monster, and if Harry got out of here, he could bring a case against Voldemort with the confirmation that he was associated with the Exhibitory illegal deals. More than ever, he needed to live and escape.

“I see you have our little spy with you.”

“I have decided to supervise his training,” Tom said. He pressed a hand on the back of Harry’s neck possessively and pushed downwards. 

Taking the hint, Harry knelt at Tom’s feet. He kept his head bowed and his hands flat on his thighs. His body was tense, and his heart threatened to jump out of his throat. He didn’t know Tom, but he knew Voldemort, and right now, Tom was the lesser evil.

“Will you,” Voldemort said. It sounded like a threat, and Harry pressed closer to Tom. 

Tom stroked Harry’s hair soothingly. “Do you not trust me to break him?” How highly did Tom rank to speak to Voldemort like that?

“Break him, yes. But who will he be loyal to when you’re done?” 

“Any pet loyal to me is loyal to you. Who would you rather have then? Bellatrix will kill him before he breaks. Lucius couldn’t tame a dog, much less a DOM agent. Severus? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Bella deserves a reward for her loyalty, and the Potter heir will delight her.” 

“Is her delight worth more than obtaining a spy within the DOM? They’re closing in on us, and Severus is no longer providing reliable intel.”

“You make a good argument. One month, Tom. Disappoint me and I’ll put you back where I found you.” 

“I’ll get it done faster than that. Up.” 

The last word was directed at Harry, and Harry scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pins and needles as feeling returned to his numb legs. He hurried after Tom before Voldemort could reconsider. Harry had recognised all three of the names, and he had no interest in spending time with any of the psychopaths masquerading as sadists. 

Not that Tom was better, but as long as he didn’t brutalise Harry, Harry could live. He was flexible. He would bend to Tom’s will, maybe even break, but as long as he hid a part of himself, he could find his mind once more. 

Harry would live, he would return to the DOM, and he would finally bring Voldemort to justice. 

* * *

When Tom spoke about breaking him, Harry had envisioned a whipping post or a pillory and being bound and lashed until all the skin was gone from his back and blood soaked his trousers, puddling at his feet. He thought he would have limbs broken and teeth pulled out until he turned into a mindless animal from pain, desperate for any relief.

However, instead, Tom led him to a room covered in mats. “What kind of training does the DOM put agents through?” he asked. 

“I don’t work for the DOM, trainer,” Harry said.

“I imagine maybe cardio training,” Tom mused. “The DOM is one of the few who have chosen to learn more about muggles rather than eschew all things muggle. Perhaps we’ll start off with some push-ups.” 

Push-ups? Harry stared at Tom blankly, not because he was pretending to not know what those were but because he couldn’t understand _what was happening._ This had been part of his training, cardio as Tom guessed, but not part of his anti-interrogation training. 

“Down you go,” Tom said. 

Harry dropped to the floor and waited. 

“We’ll start with thirty. For each question you get wrong or refuse to answer, we’ll add another one. If you tell me you don’t know what push-ups are, I’ll place weights on your shoulders, and we’ll try this again. Start and count as you go.” 

Harry grimaced at the thought of doing push-ups with weights, and reluctantly stretched his body into position. He did the exercises slowly, trying to preserve his energy.

At five, Tom interrupted. “What year did the gargoyle strike occur?” 

“The what?” A boot on his arse pressed down, and Harry winced, hurriedly adding, “trainer.” 

“The gargoyle strike. What year.” 

Harry had no idea. “1970?”

“We’re at thirty-one now. Keep going.” 

After another five, Tom asked, “What year was the Werewolf Code of Conduct developed?” 

“1637.” Harry had only remembered that from History of Magic because one of his uncles was a werewolf, and the idea that at one point, wizards had wanted werewolves to regulate themselves had stayed with him. 

No response, so Harry assumed he was right. 

It went like that until Harry finally finished at thirty-six after getting all other questions wrong. His arms felt sore and distant, and his shoulders would ache tomorrow, but this was so, so, _so_ much better than being whipped bloody, and Harry couldn’t complain. 

Maybe this was Tom’s plan. Make him grateful for good treatment until he became loyal.

Even worse, Harry couldn’t stop himself from feeling gratitude towards Tom.

“Up,” Tom ordered. He led Harry through the compound once more until they entered another room full of bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Hermione would have loved this place. 

The thought of one of his former best friends made Harry’s chest hurt, and he shook away the thought. 

“The answer to every question is in here. Find them. You have two hours.” 

Harry waited a beat to make sure Tom was serious, and he hurried off into the stacks, wishing he had not slept through History of Magic. He flipped through thick books and searched indexes desperately, and at one hour and fifty minutes, Harry returned to Tom, who had made himself comfortable in a chair by the fire.

Tom looked up from his papers. “Your findings?”

He recited off the random list of facts Tom demanded, and Tom smiled. “Good,” he praised. “Return to your room.” 

Tom made no move to get up, but Harry had clearly been dismissed. He left the library and retraced his steps. Just as he was about to reach his room, a hand grabbed his wrist. Sharp nails dug into his skin, and Harry froze. 

A woman with long black curls and deathly pale skin held him in place. Her blood-red lips twisted into a horrifying smile. “What do we have here? A spy?” Bellatrix Lestrange drew her wand with her other hand, and Harry flinched. 

“My master ordered me to go to my room, ma’am,” Harry choked out. “Please, don’t make me disobey.” He felt no qualms about calling Tom master, even when it wasn’t one of his accepted forms of address, not when he was facing a woman known for her brutal use of the _Cruciatus_ to torture her victims. 

“Tom wouldn’t mind if I played with you,” she said. 

“Actually, he would. Do try to avoid undoing my work,” Tom interrupted, coming up from behind her. He ignored Lestrange after that and pulled Harry forcefully away. Lestrange released his wrist reluctantly, her nails scraping down his arm. Tom shifted to block Harry from Lestrange, but Harry still felt her eyes burning holes in his head as he walked towards his cell. 

Tom opened the door and pushed him in. “Eat. Rest. Stay away from Bella,” he ordered.

Harry had no problem with that. He waited for Tom to leave before devouring the plate of chicken and broccoli someone had left on the dresser and drinking the large glass of water in gulps. Belatedly, he remembered being drugged the last time he accepted something to drink from the man, but it was too late. Besides, if Tom wanted to poison him, there wasn’t much Harry could do to stop him. 

Once done, he rinsed the dishes in the bathroom sink as much as possible and laid the wet dishes on a towel to dry. Harry moved to the window, fingering the bars. Was there a way to remove them? He checked for rusted metal and improper installation, pulling on each bar until his fingers were red and sore. 

Nothing. He was trapped. 

* * *

There was no clock in his room, and Harry ended up either pacing or lying down. He had searched the dresser for anything he could use, but there were only identical sets of white shirts, pants, and trousers. He tried curling up on the dresser to soak in the sun, but the surface was too small, and the wood creaked under his weight.

Maybe this was Tom’s plan. Isolate him, make Tom his only source of human contact, and Harry would come to crave his presence if only to reassure himself he hadn’t been abandoned and forgotten. Perhaps the incident with Lestrange had been staged to create the association of Tom as his protector. 

Everyone knew that physical torture was for psychopaths and only good for hurting victims. People who really wanted answers relied on mental battles, and anti-interrogation training involved identifying psychological techniques. No one had told him that the training would make him over-think the situation.

Countless hours passed. Harry stared up at the ceiling in boredom. He washed his dishes just to do something with his hands. He tried pulling at the bars again, but when he extended his hand as far as possible, his fingers brushed up against an invisible wall. Someone had warded the mansion against him after all.

The door opened. His source of misery appeared. “Come,” Tom ordered.

They went off again through the mansion, this time ending up in a bedroom on the third floor. This one was distinctly more personal, with an emerald green duvet on the bed, a headboard with rings and hooks designed for bondage, a stack of books on a dresser, soft carpets beneath Harry’s bare feet, and strings of lights dangling from the ceiling. 

“Strip and get on the bed, face down, spread-eagle,” Tom ordered.

Harry flinched at the implications, but, with no alternative, he obeyed. He strained his neck to try and see what Tom was doing, but Tom stayed out of his line of sight. 

“On your application for Exhibitory, you listed permanent marks, scat, water sports, blood play, and knives as hard limits. Do you have anything to add to the list?” 

“No, trainer,” Harry said, his heart sinking. That list of hard limits was essentially a list of ways to torture and violate him. 

“Hmm.” The bed dipped as Tom returned. He lifted Harry’s right hand and buckled a leather cuff to his wrist. After repeating that with his other hand and his ankles, Tom looped rope through the rings in the wrist cuffs, binding his hands over his head to the headboard. He strapped Harry’s ankles to a spreader bar, forcing Harry open for anything he could imagine.

A dollop of oil hit his back, and strong fingers dug into the stiff muscles of his shoulders. The sudden massage was painful and brutal, but Harry could feel his muscles relaxing, his body becoming malleable beneath Tom’s hands. His body sank deeper into the mattress, his mind starting to drift as the knots disappeared and pleasure spread through his body. Tom’s hands were cool and nice, and if Harry tried really hard, he could forget where he was and pretend this was a consensual power exchange. 

The massage stopped as Tom’s hands moved to stroking his back, petting him lightly. His fingers trailed down to Harry’s arse, and Harry stiffened.

“Shh,” Tom soothed. “I’m checking for severe inflammation or tearing.” 

His touch was clinical, but Harry was sensitive and could feel arousal heating up from the finger running carefully over him. He squirmed, and Tom smacked his arse. The sudden pain made his cock twitch, and Harry hoped that Tom didn’t see. 

Tom finished his check, and Harry held his breath, waiting for Tom’s next step. 

“This isn’t punishment. I’m doing this because I want to,” was all the warning Harry got before the man brought his hand down on Harry’s arse again, too fast for Harry to breathe through the pain. Sometimes, Tom would strike the exact same place twice, magnifying the pain. Other times, he spread out his strikes, alternating cheeks and the top of his thighs. Harry’s arse heated up, the pain morphed to pleasure, and the world fell away as he entered an old, but familiar headspace. 

“How are you doing, darling?” Tom asked. 

Irritation rose at the question. He almost didn’t respond, but his training said that a verbal response was required. It took long seconds to find the words. “I’m green, sir,” Harry slurred, the response instinctive but wrong for some reason Harry couldn’t pinpoint in that moment.

Tom chuckled, and his hand disappeared. Before Harry could let out a whine in protest, he was back, rubbing a cooling cream. Harry sighed and tried to spread his legs wider to give the man better access, but the spreader bar restrained him. His cock was hard and leaking, and Harry rubbed against the sheets. 

Strong hands gripped his hips, forcing him to still. “None of that now, darling. You know better.” 

“Sorry, sir,” Harry murmured.

“Shh.” The spreader bar disappeared, freeing his legs. Tom reached over him, his body pressing against Harry’s side for a moment. Suddenly, Harry could move his arms more, though he was still restrained to the bed. He wiggled onto his side, back pressing against Tom’s chest, and his eyes drifted shut. His arse burned beautifully, arms held him in place, and this was everything Harry had been looking for.

* * *

Harry’s internal clock woke him up. His eyes flew open, and he tried to get out of bed, only held back by the rope and the restraints. Had he really fallen into subspace yesterday? After only a spanking, and not a particularly harsh one at that? With a man he didn’t trust?

What was wrong with him?

He slumped back down, only to realise he wasn’t alone. Tom was sitting on the bed, legs stretched out as he flipped through papers. He glanced at Harry briefly before going back to his work. It was strangely domestic, and Harry rubbed his eyes, trying to orient himself.

“I’ve been thinking about how to punish you,” Tom said casually as he turned another page. 

Harry stiffened.

“Do you think I’m being unfair?” he asked. 

There was only one possible answer even if he disagreed. “No, trainer.” 

“Tell me why you’re being punished.” 

“In the encounter with the woman, I spoke without permission, and I failed to carry out your orders, forcing you to come to my aid, trainer,” Harry said.

“And you don’t think it’s unfair for me to punish things out of your control?”

He hesitated, and that was an answer in as of itself. 

“So let’s try this again. Do you think it’s unfair for me to punish you for the transgressions you listed.” 

“Yes, trainer.” 

“What would you do if I wanted to punish you?” 

“Nothing, trainer. I’m yours to punish as you wish.” 

“What if I gave you a way to avoid your punishment?”

“It depends on the alternative, trainer,” Harry said. 

“Just a simple question. You only need answer truthfully and fully. But if I’m not satisfied, I’ll double your punishment.” 

“I’ll take the punishment, trainer,” Harry said. He was pretty sure he knew what Tom would ask, and he had no interest in failing to answer and earning something worse. 

“Really? Even if I say it’s not going to be about the Department of Mysteries?” 

Harry stared at Tom doubtfully, braiding his fingers to try to calm his nerves. He didn’t want to know how creative Tom could get, and if it wasn’t about his job and his cover, maybe a question was worth it. The ropes bound him to the bed, but Tom’s gaze pinned him in place. He couldn’t move until he responded. “What’s the question, trainer?” 

“You’re a halfblood raised in the wizarding world, where people look down on anything abnormal, muggle, and taboo. The DOM trains good spies, but even the best spy can’t fake the experience you have. How did you get that experience?” 

Harry didn’t know what he had expected Tom to ask, but that definitely wasn’t it. Memories of being seventeen, newly graduated, and trying to find his way in the world came unbidden. He dropped his gaze and stared at his hands. 

“My mum is muggleborn, and she wanted me to know the world she grew up in. It wasn’t hard for me to navigate the muggle world, but it took me some time to figure out what I wanted and find the courage to seek it out,” he began. “I found my first kink club when I was eighteen and legal by their laws. I was young and dumb. I didn’t know what I was doing. All the research I had done was from porn and magazines we passed around in the dorms, and even then, the kinkiest thing they had was some light bondage.” 

“It didn’t go well?” Tom guessed. 

“No, it did.” Harry hadn’t realised it at the time, but he had been lucky to go to a club with careful management and screening. There were abusers and psychopaths who frequented kink clubs and masqueraded as Doms and sadists, and had he gone to a club that cared more about money and less about its members, he could have encountered one and gone home with them, becoming a prisoner for them to hurt. “I said I was only going to go once but I went back again the next week.” 

During that time, he had been starting his job at the DOM, training to become an Unspeakable. The stress of it had driven him back to the muggle clubs to be tied up and flogged until the only thing he knew was his Dom’s pleasure. 

Eventually, that wasn’t enough anymore. The worry about whether he needed to use his safeword, the problem of being wary of getting too caught up in the rush of endorphins and becoming too agreeable, and the stress of whether he could truly trust the Dom tying him up had driven Harry to search for some more. 

There were rumours of an underground club where subs gave up their safeword at the door as they signed the consent form, not because they wanted to be in an abusive relationship but because the club trained the Doms to read body language and know every detail of a sub’s reaction. They decided when to stop, not the sub.

Harry had known how dangerous that could be. No release line on the ropes holding him captive. No escape from a whipping post. If he went there, he would be at the mercy of his Dom, and if his Dom was an abusive arsehole who violated his limits, there was no escape. 

The thought of his parents finding his broken body in an alley somewhere had kept Harry in the safe, regulated clubs for another year until, finally, the overwhelming need for something more drove him to search for the underground clubs. 

It took another three months before he found one at the base of what appeared to be an abandoned car park at first glance. By then, he was an experienced sub, and he was starting to have second thoughts. He hid the address in the bottom of his pants drawer, vowing to never look at it again. 

After the first time he killed someone, Harry dug out the address and went searching for someone to get him out of his mind and make him forget what his job had turned him into. He submitted a list of hard limits, the same list Tom had, and signed a consent form. A Dom bound him to a St. Andrews Cross and spanked, flogged, and whipped him until Harry had been so high on endorphins, he would have agreed to anything the Dom wanted.

Harry had gone back a total of three times. During the last, he had confessed to his Dom that he was having doubts about working at the DOM while he was in subspace, and the sheer stupidity of what he had done drove Harry into burning the address and vowing to never return. It was one thing to be captured and broken, but to have his loyalties compromised by a muggle kink club would have gotten Harry’s memories wiped had his bosses discovered what happened.

“It was fun while it lasted, but eventually work became my focus, and I stopped going to the club,” Harry said instead of telling the long story.

He had thought that he closed that chapter of his life until his boss sent him to go undercover in Exhibitory. Harry still didn’t know if the DOM knew what he had done in his youth or if they had chosen him based on some psych profile or if they had used a random lottery of the Unspeakables.

Tom studied him, and Harry held his breath, wondering if the man would decide what he said wasn’t enough and punish him. Harry had left enough details out that he wouldn’t argue if Tom did. 

Wait. Full stop.

What was he thinking? Tom was his captor, not his Dom. How was he already starting to forget this in less than a day? Yes, Tom would probably break him, but damn if Harry was going to make this easy. 

“You’re a sweet sub, aren’t you.”

“I’m not your sub,” Harry said flatly. 

Tom arched an eyebrow at him. “That’s one.” 

Harry grimaced. He had been so good too. “Trainer,” he added belatedly, not that it helped.

“I guess that means I’ll get to punish you after all. Are you hungry?” 

Torture by withholding food? Unpleasant but not unexpected. He could take it. “Yes, trainer,” Harry said truthfully. 

Tom reached over him and undid the knots holding his hands captive. He left the cuffs on and dressed Harry before guiding him out of the room. 

They went to the dining room once more. Voldemort wasn’t present, but several others were. The conversation stalled for a moment as the two of them entered the room. Harry’s eyes swept over the faces quickly before he lowered his head, his mind cataloguing everyone present. 

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, the Lestrange brothers, Severus Snape, someone Harry thought was Augustus Rookwood but couldn’t be certain, and Barty Crouch Jr. Tom ignored all of them, but Harry could feel eyes boring holes in his back. He stayed close to Tom, thankful Bellatrix wasn’t present, and prayed to Merlin that Tom wouldn’t stay. 

Finally, something in this shitshow went his way. Tom made a plate for himself and swept out of the dining hall, going upstairs to the library once more. He dropped a cushion on the floor and sank into the chair by the fire. “Kneel,” he ordered. 

Harry dropped to his knees on the cushion and watched as Tom placed the food on the table in front and opened a book. He tore off a piece of bread and held it to Harry’s lips.

He took the offering with his teeth, careful to avoid biting Tom’s fingers. Harry wasn’t a stranger to handfeeding, but he was easily bored by it. He was into the service side of submission, and a partner feeding him felt as though he were the one being served, which just made Harry uncomfortable.

This time, Harry wasn’t bored. Each bite felt like a stone dropping into his stomach as Harry realised exactly how much he depended on Tom. Tom was his captor, but he was also the one who kept Harry fed, protected him from Voldemort’s followers. Harry couldn’t even entertain fantasies of murdering Tom for everything he was doing to Harry because he had a feeling that he knew what would happen if Tom died. 

The same thing would happen if Tom failed to break him. 

A sadist got off on inflicting pain, but a good sadist found a willing masochist who enjoyed incurring pain. There was aftercare at the end of a scene. Wounds were tended. Subs were checked.

The Death Eaters were psychopaths. There would be no tending to wounds, no care and comfort at the end. They would brutalize Harry, and they would laugh while he laid broken on the floor. 

Tom was going to break Harry. 

And Harry was going to let him.


	2. One Month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: graphic violence, non-con, orgasm delay/denial, impact play, handfeeding, psychological torture, physical torture, multiple orgasms, hurt/comfort, angst, aftercare, kidnapping and captivity

Harry stood facing the wall. His sweaty arms were raised on either side of his head, and his palms pressed against the dark brown wood. His legs were spread shoulder width, and they trembled as he struggled to stay in place. A metal cock cage trapped his burgeoning erection, and Harry had long since rested his head against the wall, struggling to hold position. 

The damn vibrator was pressed right against his prostate, and the desire to come threatened to overwhelm all rational thought. The key to the cock cage laid within arm’s reach. He could stretch out his hand, reach the keys to his freedom, and come. 

If he did, he would fail.

If he lost position, he would fail. 

Only years of orgasm control training kept him standing. Harry wished for a gag so he could sink his teeth into something and scream out his frustration. His lips were bitten raw, and his hands had curled, fingers looking for something stable to hold onto. 

How long had they been here? An hour? Two? Harry had long since lost track of time. The only thing he could do was count his breaths as pleasure rocked through his body. 

A sudden crack sounded through the air. Moments later, a streak of fire burned across his arse. Harry let out a helpless moan as his hips rocked forward. The pain faded away, and the pleasure returned, magnified. 

Tom lashed him again, this time twice in a row. The blows landed right next to the first, and Harry jerked. His legs shifted, widening to give him better balance. He sucked in air desperately before forcing himself to slow his breathing and work through the pain.

The pain should have killed his attempts to get hard. Instead, he flew even higher. His eyes drifted shut, and his shoulders slumped. Only Tom’s order to stay in position kept him standing. 

Suddenly, everything stopped. “Turn around,” Tom ordered. 

It took Harry a few minutes to figure out how to use his legs. He stepped in tiny steps, relying on the wall to hold him up. The vibrator rubbed against his prostate with every move, and Harry clenched down, enjoying the feeling of something thick and long inside him. 

“Eyes up.” 

Harry raised his head to meet Tom’s eyes.

“You’re beautiful like this, darling,” Tom praised, and the words gave Harry more pleasure than any vibrator could. “You’re going to take seven more for me. Count them aloud.” 

“Yes, sir,” Harry breathed. 

“Back in position.” 

Harry shuffled back and braced himself. If the vibrator was bad before, it was absolutely devastating now. It moved impossibly fast inside him, driving Harry closer than ever to his orgasm. The crack warned Harry of an incoming blow, and his head thumped forward as the whip landed on top of his thighs. “One, sir,” he choked out. 

Tom worked him hard, and by the end of the seven blows, Harry was panting, his shoulders burning from the strain of holding his arms up. His legs visibly shook, and Harry didn’t know how much longer he could stand.

Strong arms embraced him, bringing him to the bed. “You did so good for me, darling. So good. I think that deserves a reward. Do you remember the first rule I gave you?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“What is it.” 

“I will speak only when I am asked a question, I am asking for permission, or I am clarifying an order, sir.” 

“You now have permission to speak at will.” Tom brushed a kiss over Harry’s forehead and pressed a straw to his lips. 

Harry drank obediently and sighed when Tom took away the empty glass. “Thank you, sir,” he murmured sleepily. 

Tom stroked his arse, fingers pressing down on marks left behind by the whip. Harry squirmed as his cock twitched, trying to harden in the cock cage. A moment later, the pain started to fade, the healing ointment numbing his arse. Harry wiggled, not to escape, but to press closer to Tom. 

Part of him wished that Tom would take off his shirt so Harry could get skin contact, but he settled for tangling his limbs with Tom’s and tucking his head against Tom’s side. 

“You would have made such a beautiful sub,” Tom said softly. He wiped Harry’s body down with a warm washcloth, cleaning the sweat off him. It was a slow process as Tom peppered Harry with sweet kisses, and Harry slowly stretched out, enjoying the attention. 

Tom locked the cuffs that now lived on Harry’s wrists unless he was in the shower and held Harry tightly. Sleep called to him, and Harry’s eyes drifted shut, safe in a world of warmth and comfort—and a little pain.

* * *

Over the course of the week Tom had Harry captive, they had fallen into a routine. Wake up, go do increasingly more push ups and questions, library to figure out answers to the ones he had missed, followed by a food break. Then, depending on Tom’s mood, Harry would either go to his room, or he would kneel by Tom’s legs and the man worked. After came the part where Harry dreaded and anticipated. 

Tom had a terrifying imagination. Each day, he devised a different form of torment and gave Harry a list of rules to follow. The rules were easy—stand here, stay in this position, complete this task in one hour—on their own, but he always found a way to make it near impossible. He had no tolerance for imperfection. Each count of disobedience led to Harry’s cock being shoved in metal rings for an hour and Tom playing with a remote that sent shocks through it at random intervals. 

If Tom decided Harry was good, he would remove the metal rings and let Harry sleep freely. If he thought Harry misbehaved during the punishment, the rings stayed, and a plug was added, keeping him in sexual frustration throughout the night. 

This was the first night Harry had woken up with a soft cock and an empty arse. Tom was awake beside him—the man seemed to never sleep—and he looked down at Harry when Harry shifted to get closer under the sheets.

“I thought we would do something different today,” Tom commented. 

The words had Harry fully awake and tense. Normally, they would eat, Tom would read in the library, and they would sleep, either in the same bed or in their own rooms. Harry did not want to know what Tom’s idea of different was. Merlin, what if he decided to dine with Voldemort’s other servants? The thought of the Lestranges made Harry’s skin crawl and he cringed internally. 

“You’ve been cooped up in here for a long time. You must be feeling restless.”

Harry stayed silent. Tom was clearly going somewhere with this, and Harry wasn’t about to say something and risk being punished. Of course, Tom had to ruin his plans by asking, “What do you think?” 

“I’ll do whatever pleases you, trainer,” he murmured. 

“Yes, you will, wouldn’t you. But that’s not what I asked, and that’s one.” 

Harry winced, hands inching down to cup his cock protectively before he stilled himself. He knew better than to make Tom think he was trying to jerk off. Merlin knew what Tom would do to his poor cock if he caught Harry. “I think,” he started slowly to give himself time to think, “that you have creative ideas, and if you think we should do something new, I agree because I trust you.” 

“Said very prettily but how much of that did you mean.” 

Only the part about Tom being creative, and he didn’t mean that in a good way. Harry knew that Tom wasn’t fooled by his faked obedience, but Tom didn’t add to his punishment count. The man unlocked Harry’s cuffs from each other but left the leather on. He took out a clean set of the white uniform Harry had been wearing these days. “Get dressed,” Tom ordered and tossed the clothes at Harry. 

The pants rubbed against the welts left behind by the whip painfully, and Harry winced. He reached behind to touch one of the welts, and his hands came back clean. No blood but there were flakes of dried ointment on his hands. Harry rubbed his palms together to get the flakes off and pulled on the loose trousers on. Kneeling would not be enjoyable. 

By the time Harry was dressed, Tom was too. He had on casual black robes, and Harry guessed Tom had a wand holster strapped to his wrist. He was right when the man drew it. “We’re apparating,” Tom said. “Come.” 

Harry despised side-along apparation every time, and this was no different. Tom took them to his choice of location, and Harry hit the ground with a thud, falling to his hands and knees. 

“Sweet of you to kneel obediently for me,” Tom teased. 

Harry rolled his eyes at the ground where Tom couldn’t see and pushed himself up. They were in a small flat, a muggle one based on all the electronics he saw. Tom clearly knew his way around, though Harry couldn’t believe his eyes as he followed Tom around the flat. Voldemort and his followers despised muggles even more than the average wizard did.

They went to the bedroom, and Tom opened the closet to reveal an assortment of muggle clothes. Harry saw button-ups, sweatpants, an assortment of trainers and boots, colourful T-shirts, polyester coats, and were those _suits?_ The bastard would be attractive in one too.

“Do close your mouth before you drool on my carpet,” Tom said dryly. 

Harry tried to remember how to use his jaw at the confirmation that this was Tom’s flat. Tom ignored his gaping face as he searched through the closet. The man tossed fabric at Harry’s general direction, and he instinctively caught them. A T-shirt with a logo, emerald green jumper, and a pair of jeans. “Get changed. You have five minutes.”

The shirt and jumper went on with no problem. The jeans, however, had Harry wincing as the tight denim pressed against the welts. Kneeling in the institutional white pants would have been irritating. Kneeling in these would be brutal.

_Sadist,_ Harry accused Tom mentally as he wiggled in the jeans, trying to find a more comfortable way to stand.

Tom had changed out of his robes into muggle clothing too, and he looked disgustingly attractive in his expensive wool coat, casual button-down, and trousers. Next to him, Harry looked like a cheap rent boy. Tom’s eyes looked over him and nodded in approval. 

They left the flat and Harry walked slightly behind Tom across the pavement. Cars rushed past them, making Harry stiffen each time he heard the screech of wheels. He was more comfortable in the muggle world than most wizards, but the speed at which cars sped down the road while so close to pedestrians terrified Harry. 

Tom finally stopped in front of a small store. He opened the door and gestured for Harry to enter. It was a small restaurant with a smattering of occupied tables and chairs. Tom flashed a charming smile at the woman who came up to meet them. “Table for two,” he said.

“Right this way, please,” the waitress said and led them to the back corner. She set two menus on the table. “Can I start you off with something to drink?” 

“Tea.”

“Right away.” She clicked away in tall heels, and Tom nodded for Harry to sit in the chair against the wall. 

Harry watched Tom remove his coat and hang it on the back of the chair. A half-forgotten memory of Tom giving him permission to speak freely surfaced, and Harry, not sure if he had imagined it, hesitantly asked, “Tom? What are we doing here?” It was the first time he had ever said Tom’s name aloud, and Harry had to choke out the one syllable word, feeling uncomfortable at the intimacy. 

Tom didn’t reprimand him, but then again, he wouldn’t. Harry had permission to use his name, and he couldn’t really say why he chose to use “trainer” instead, other than it was the instinctive thing to do. Instead, he smiled, clearly pleased. “I’m surprised you remembered. I was going to remind you if you were silent any longer. We’re eating dinner. Order whatever you wish.” Tom opened the menu closer to him, and Harry copied him, relaxing in his chair despite the pain in his arse as denim dug into the welts harshly. Judging by Tom’s careful avoidance of the rules, he had made the right choice pretending they were a normal muggle couple.

They were in a Chinese restaurant, and Harry didn’t recognise anything in the menu. The British wizarding world wasn’t great about embracing other cultures, and the only time he had foreign food was when his mum took him to her favourite places. He stared at pictures until he found something that looked good.

“Ready?” Tom asked. 

Harry turned the menu over and pointed it out. 

“Hmm. That’s a little spicy, but I suspect you’ll like it.” Tom flashed a smile. “I find that masochists tend to enjoy spicy food.” 

His cheeks burnt and Harry ducked his head. Tom flagged down the waitress and ordered the spicy wontons for Harry and chicken dumplings for himself.

They sat in silence, and Harry made himself busy by pouring the provided tea from the porcelain teapot. Once done, he clasped his hands in his lap and tried not to fidget in his chair. The training Tom had put him through helped keep him still as he focused on counting his breaths and remaining calm. Harry couldn’t figure out why they were here. With anyone else, he would have called it a date, but this was a man who was holding him captive. 

Was this a test? Did Tom bring Harry out to see if Harry would call for help? This would be a great opportunity to attempt an escape. Excuse himself to the loo, sneak out the window, find the nearest entrance to the Department of Mysteries, and he would be free and alive to testify.

If he was thinking this, Tom must also be thinking it. Maybe the building had been warded so Tom would know the moment Harry left the premises, or worse, stop him from leaving. Perhaps Tom had attached a tracking charm to Harry when he was sleeping, and he would use Harry to find the DOM headquarters. The location was secret. They bound all agents to silence. The secrecy was one of their biggest protections, and if Harry exposed them, dozens of Unspeakables would be in danger. 

He stayed in his seat and waited for the waitress to come with their food.

Tom broke the silence first. “You said your mother is a muggleborn,” Tom said, his voice soft to avoid people overhearing. “How familiar are you with the muggle world? Beyond kink clubs of course.”

“I can navigate it pretty well if I’m in Britain and if I don’t need to drive. You won’t find me screaming at a telephone because I think the other side can’t hear me. Some of the slang escapes me, but I can talk to people pretty well.” Harry shrugged. “It depends on what you would like.” 

Tom smirked. “We have a stop to make after this before we head back.” He leaned back, a satisfied expression on his face. 

The waitress appeared with two plates, setting one in front of each of them. Harry stared at the red wontons and hesitantly used chopsticks to bring one to his lips. He bit down. 

FIRE. 

Harry chewed furiously and swallowed. He downed his cup of tea, hissing as the hot liquid burnt his tongue. Merlin, he might be a masochist, but he would rather have Tom hurt him, thank you very much.

Tom snorted. “Want to switch?” 

“No, thank you, sir,” Harry choked out, resisting the urge pant like a dog or claw off his tongue.

Tom rolled his eyes and pushed his own cup of tea over to Harry, passing his hand over the hot liquid for a moment. Harry took the offering. The cup was ice cold under his palms and he took a tiny sip. The cool liquid soothed his throat and Harry drank faster, barely stopping himself from gulping this cup down too. 

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said softly, meaning it. The casual use of wandless magic shocked Harry, and it warmed his heart to know that Tom would expend that effort for him when it gained the man nothing.

“Second thoughts about switching?” 

_Not in bed_, Harry nearly said but he had the sense to bite back his deadpan humour. Tom wasn’t a friend. Tom wasn’t a Dom. However, he could feel himself forgetting that, and a part of him wanted to sink into the role, trick himself into thinking Tom was his Dom and he had consented to everything. Harry didn’t know how else he would get out of this with his soul intact. 

“Yes, thank you,” Harry agreed softly. 

Tom swapped out their plates and poured a saucer of soy sauce for Harry. The chicken dumplings were savoury, with bits of vegetables mixed in with the meat. It was a delicious meal, and Harry luxuriated at the chance to stretch out his legs in a new, but relatively safe place. After they were done, Tom paid, and he guided Harry out of the restaurant. 

After a maze of roads, they ended up in a dark back alley that screamed murder scene to Harry’s senses. Tom opened a door and nodded for Harry to enter. Merlin, he was going to die. Harry reluctantly stepped into the room. 

It took his eyes a moment to adjust, and when he realised where he was, Harry choked on air. “This is a—” he broke off, unable to continue.

“Sex shop, yes,” Tom said calmly. He took out a leather wallet and pulled out a handful of notes for Harry. “Go pick two things for me to use on you. That’s your budget.” 

This was a test. He just had to treat it like a field test and it would be fine. Besides, it wasn’t like he was a stranger to sex toys. Harry could identify a terrifying number of these things too. Dildos, cock rings and cages, humblers, Wartenberg pinwheels, vampire gloves, ticklers, violet wands, different types of rope for various kinds of bondage, and an assortment of implements for impact play including whips, floggers, riding crops, canes, and paddles, just to list a few. He had used nearly all of these at one point in his life too. He counted the notes Tom had passed him and stared at the shelves of toys. 

What did he want? Not just in terms of a scene, but what was the bigger picture he had in mind? Harry could select a cane, something he despised, and perhaps let Tom hurt him past his limits. It would make Harry hate the man, solidify him as an enemy. He could pick candles for wax play, which he enjoyed if he was in the right headspace, and he already knew Tom could get him there. He could select one of the chastity belts, something Tom would probably love to use on Harry considering he hadn’t let Harry come a single time. Harry would bet his life that one of Tom’s biggest kinks was orgasm control.

Torn over indecision, Harry glanced over at Tom. He was talking to the person working the shop.

He had to choose. Harry stared at the shelves again. Finally, he grabbed a set of non-scented candles and a paddle with holes for reduced surface area. He paid easily, accepted his change, and returned to Tom with a nondescript black bag. 

Tom opened it and looked at Harry’s chosen supplies. He handed the bag back to Harry and opened the door of the shop. “Muggles,” Tom mused as they stepped out, “they have such interesting innovations we overlook.” 

Harry didn’t believe for one second that Tom would fail to match the innovation of a muggle Dom.

* * *

Three days after the going to the sex shop, Tom ambushed Harry. He had put Harry through the usual regime of push ups, going up to one hundred and fifty this time. Harry tried to shift his weight to give his shaky arms a break, but no matter what he did, his arms continued trembling and sweat soaked his shirt. He could entertain no thought but answering the next question correctly and finally getting to lie down and give his dead arms a break.

“When did you start working for the Department of Mysteries?” Tom asked, his voice a soft crooning by Harry’s sweaty ear. 

He could lie. Hold out against the questioning. Let Tom punish him. 

But he had decided to let Tom break him, right? Answering this question couldn’t hurt anyone but himself, and he was already completely and utterly fucked. 

The boot on his arse pushing him down and sent Harry collapsing to the floor, his arms giving out. 

“Eighteen!” he shouted. “I was eighteen.” 

“Such a good boy,” Tom praised. The boot disappeared, and the man crouched down to lift Harry in a comforting embrace. “See what happens when you behave? Now, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we? You deserve a reward for being so good.” 

Tom pulled him to his feet. The side-along made Harry’s head swim, and he let out a pained groan when they landed. They were in a bathroom much larger than the one in Harry’s prison cell, and Tom turned the bath on. He stripped Harry efficiently and helped him into the water. 

The warm running water quickly filled the tub, relaxing his muscles. Harry tilted his head back and let his limbs float a little. There wasn’t enough room for true weightlessness, and Harry wondered if Tom owned a bigger tub for deeper sensory deprivation. Some viewed it as torture, but Harry enjoyed the feeling of nothingness as he floated in the dark. The water slowed and stopped as it grew close to the top of the tub.

Tom poured warm water over Harry’s hair and soaped up the short strands with shampoo. His hands were rough, and his nails scratched Harry’s scalp. Harry leaned into the hands. His eyes drifted shut, and he gave himself permission to enjoy the contact and ignore the discomfort of the intimacy.

The man had seen Harry naked dozens of times. Tom had stuffed vibrators into Harry’s hole, caged his cock, whipped his arse, edged him, made him beg to come, and told him no. But this was different. This was…nice, similar to Tom’s aftercare except Harry wasn’t deep into subspace like usual. In subspace, Harry didn’t have the strength to worry about Voldemort or the DOM or himself, much less pick up Tom’s actions and try to guess their purpose. Now, he could see no reason for Tom to do this, and he struggled to understand why Tom would take the time. 

Tom rinsed the shampoo out of Harry’s hair, careful to avoid getting the suds into Harry’s eyes. He rubbed conditioner through the strands and carded his fingers through to untangle the knots. Once the conditioner was also rinsed out, Tom lifted Harry’s right arm and scrubbed soap across the skin. He repeated it with Harry’s other arm and legs. “Up,” Tom ordered, pushing Harry’s back slightly. 

Harry stood. The cool air made him shiver, and he tried not to move as Tom washed his back and front. His hands ran over Harry’s soft cock quickly and clinically. 

“Down.”

Harry sat down so fast that the water sloshed over the edge. He winced at the mess, but Tom laughed and pet him lightly before rinsing all the soap off. 

“So obedient. How far does that obedience go, I wonder.” Tom brushed a kiss over Harry’s forehead. “Up again, darling. Let’s get you out before you start to prune.” 

Harry stood and let Tom dry him off with a sinfully soft towel. “Trainer,” he began hesitantly, “about the questions I missed…” 

“They can wait,” Tom said. “Let’s get you something to eat.” He took Harry out of the bathroom. Food had somehow appeared on a small table by the bed. Tom dropped a pillow onto the floor and took back the towel. Harry sighed and knelt on the cushion, waiting for Tom to return.

Tom fed Harry by hand in every meal they shared, but this time, it felt different. Harry kissed a drop of sauce that had found its way onto Tom’s hand, cleaning the skin carefully. Tom caressed his face with a thumb and fed him another bite. 

“Voldemort is going to call you in for a meeting,” Tom said. 

And he had just essentially dumped a bucket of ice down Harry’s back. Tom was scary, but after a week and a half, Harry was used to his presence. 

Voldemort was a monster. He had apparently risen to power over half a century ago and created a monopoly of the magical criminal underworld. He took whatever he wanted and killed whoever got in his way. When the aurors failed to stop him, the DOM stepped in. 

They had lost over a dozen agents to the man. Some of them had been Harry’s friends. Harry had agreed to go undercover in the first magical kink club because he had the experience to pass for a sub and get a job as a waiter. It was supposed to be recon, information gathering, because they suspected the club was used as a front for illegal activity. 

He was never supposed to meet Voldemort. 

And now Voldemort knew who he was.

Harry was going to throw up. 

“You’ll make me proud, won’t you, darling,” Tom said. It sounded like a threat. “You’ll tell him what he wants to hear, you’ll fulfil his expectations, and you’ll be a good little spy. If I’m disappointed, we’re going to have to increase the intensity of your training, and you don’t want that.” 

Harry trembled. “I won’t disappoint you, trainer,” he promised. If he did, he probably wouldn’t live to see the aftermath.

“No, you won’t. Now, let’s go have some fun. It’s been a while since I’ve tortured those balls, hasn’t it.”

* * *

Harry thought he would have time to prepare for the accursed meeting. He was wrong. 

The summoning came by paper at the end of his second week of captivity. A time and location was penned with an elegant hand, and Harry shuddered at the thought of Voldemort coming in while he had been sleeping, not that he would have been able to do anything if he had been awake. Ever since the warning, Tom had chained Harry in his sleep, securing his wrists and legs to the bed even when Harry was free to go to his own room. It was uncharacteristic of Tom, who should have known the dangers of leaving a sub bound and alone, and now, Harry knew why.

Tom came in and saw Harry sitting in bed, fingers bloodless from holding the summoning with a death grip. How long had he been sitting here? He had long since stopped showering in the morning since he would just get dirty in a few hours, but Harry usually had the bed made and curtains open to let in sunlight through the bars. 

“When does he want to see you?” Tom asked.

“Nine, trainer.” 

“You have two hours until then. Breathe, Harry.” It was the first time Tom used his name to address him, not to mock or work a power play. 

Harry sucked in a breath and then another and another. His stiff fingers dropped the paper. He was shaking, Harry realised. He was shivering like a winter storm had surrounded him. 

Tom sat on the rumpled duvet and laid a cool hand over Harry’s hands. “You’re going to make me proud. Remember your training.” 

What training, Harry wanted to choke out. His DOM training? His sub training? Tom’s training? He shifted to lie closer to Tom, and they sat, sides touching, until it was time. 

Harry had grown to know the mansion that was his prison fairly well, and he walked through the halls until he reached Voldemort’s office. He knocked on the heavy wood door three times, clasped his hands behind his back, and waited. He had only one chance to get this right.

“Come in,” the cold voice ordered. 

Harry opened the door and walked up to the large desk.

Voldemort was a monster, but he didn’t look like the monsters in stories. He also didn’t look like an elderly man despite the DOM’s information. The receding hairline, pale skin, and frown lines made Voldemort look like a mild-mannered professor, not someone who ordered entire families slaughtered because one person dared work against him.

“Sit.” 

Harry sat in the large ornate chair, back ramrod straight. 

“How is your training going, boy.”

“Well, my lord,” Harry said, using the form of address he had heard the followers use. “I hope to serve my master well.”

“And who is your master.” 

“Currently Tom, and hopefully you in the future if you’ll have me, my lord.” 

“Do you think you are worthy of serving me?” 

“No, my lord, but I hope Tom will make me worthy.” 

Voldemort nodded, approval softening his face slightly. Harry did not make the mistake of thinking that meant he was safe. “What entails Tom’s training.” 

Wouldn’t he know? “He hurts me, my lord,” Harry answered honestly. _He also takes care not to push past my limits, takes me to the muggle world for dumplings and sex toys, and administers some of the best aftercare I’ve ever received._

“Do you hate him for it?” 

“No, my lord. I deserve to be hurt.”

“Kneel.” 

Harry dropped out of the seat and sank to his knees gracefully, head bowed, hands behind his back. It rankled him to show such submission to Voldemort. Harry didn’t have the time or mental energy to wonder why the same act with Tom had never bothered him.

A boot nudged his side, and Harry held back a flinch. Voldemort circled him like a shark ready to devour his prey, and Harry braced himself. He was not disappointed.

“_Crucio_,” Voldemort drawled. 

Harry fell to the ground, screaming. Pain shot through him, lightning along his nerves, overwhelming all rational thought. He writhed on the ground, searching for relief and unable to find any. After an eternity of agony, the pain finally faded. Harry panted as he pushed himself back into position. 

“_Crucio_,” the monster repeated. 

* * *

If asked, Harry couldn’t say how long it went on for. Again and again, Voldemort used the _Cruciatus_ on Harry. Again and again, Harry knelt and stayed in place for Voldemort to do it again. His brain screamed at Harry to flee, but he couldn’t. There was no way out, no exit, no exfiltration team to whisk him out. By the time Voldemort was done, Harry would have told him anything he wanted to hear just to avoid the curse again. Sweat soaked his clothes and tears streamed down his face. Harry’s throat burned from screaming himself hoarse. 

“Get out,” Voldemort ordered. 

Harry could barely believe his ears. He scrambled for the door, crawling when he couldn’t make his legs pick his body up, and made his way through the thankfully-empty hallways with the walls for support. Instead of returning to his room, Harry found himself outside Tom’s room. Before he could leave, the door opened. Tom helped him inside and wrapped a soft blanket around him.

“You’re okay,” Tom murmured. “I got you, darling. You’re okay. Drink this.” He pushed a potion into Harry’s hands. When Harry couldn’t grasp it, his hands trembling too much, Tom pressed the open phial to Harry’s lips. The potion was bitter and disgusting, but it soothed Harry’s throat on the way down. Tom forced Harry to drink two others. 

Slowly, Harry’s muscle spasms stopped and he stopped feeling like death. His hands gripped the blanket tightly, and he curled up on the bed on his side. 

“You did well,” Tom praised. His hands never stopped petting Harry. 

“How do you know,” Harry spat out, unable to force himself to use Tom’s preferred form of address. How ridiculous was it that he could call Voldemort his lord after torture, yet refuse to address Tom respectfully? 

“You’re alive. So am I.” 

Harry lifted his head to glare at Tom. “I doubt he would have killed you if I did poorly.”

Tom kissed Harry’s shoulder and ruffled his hair. “Rest,” he said. “You deserve it.” 

Harry rearranged Tom so that the other man was pressing him into the bed, his weight holding Harry captive. Another time, Harry wouldn’t have dared, but he was absolutely done with this shite.

* * *

When he woke up, Harry was stiff and starving. His stomach felt like it would gnaw a hole. He tried to sit up, only to fall back on the bed as his muscles seized and pain shot through his entire body. A whimper escaped his clenched teeth, and he struggled to breathe through the horrible pain that not even a masochist could enjoy. 

Slowly, he uncurled his legs and waited to make sure no sudden stabs of pain would appear. Harry swung his legs off the side of the bed and pushed his body up with his arm. The pressure on his shoulder sent pain shooting through his body. Harry blacked out for a moment, his head swimming. He stayed sitting, waiting for the moment to pass. 

His vision cleared, and Harry carefully stood up, keeping a hand on the bed to steady himself. He leaned against the footboard as he made his way around the bed and crossed the room to the door. 

Locked. 

Harry cursed and let the handle go. He went to the loo instead and collapsed on the seat when his legs failed him. Harry leaned back and let his eyes drift shut. Rest for a moment, and then he would go.

“Did you fall asleep on the _loo_?” 

He opened his eyes and glared at Tom. Harry’s arse was numb where the porcelain dug in, but he wasn’t about to admit getting lost in his thoughts to Tom. “Fuck off,” he drawled. 

Tom smirked. “Would you like some help getting up?”

Harry would rather die than accept help from the arsehole. He pushed himself up, making his shaky legs work, and flushed. Refusing to risk stumbling, Harry walked slowly and made it out of the bathroom. “What do you want.” 

“Hungry?” 

Harry’s stomach rumbled an unwilling answer. 

“We’re apparating. Think you can handle it?”

Probably not, but Harry refused to admit weakness. He walked up to Tom and let the man hold him for transport. They dropped down in the bedroom of Tom’s muggle flat once more, and Harry’s stomach rebelled. Thank Merlin he hadn’t eaten in hours or he would have vomited on Tom’s pristine carpets. 

Though the man deserved it.

Tom stepped over Harry to the closet. Cloth smacked Harry in the face and fell to the ground. He changed out of his sweat and tear-stained uniform and pulled on the loose button up and trousers. The fabric was a high-quality material, so soft that it eased the irritation of Harry’s nerves. The sleeves went over Harry’s cuffs easily. His fingers struggled to work the buttons.

Tom pushed his hands to his sides. “Let me.” 

Awkwardly, Harry stood, trying not to fidget as Tom worked the buttons with deft hands. “Where are we going?” he asked, this time intentionally dropping “trainer” to see if Tom would bring it up.

“A small French place. I recommend their duck.” Tom finished the buttons and handed Harry a coat. 

They apparated again to a run-down alley, and Tom led the way past a few buildings to a small white building. The door was small and slightly blocked by a bush that had grown all over the place. Tom ducked past and pulled the door open for them. His free hand rested on Harry’s lower back, pushing him in. 

A server greeted them in French, and Tom responded before Harry could. He sounded like a native Parisian, and Harry wondered if Tom had learned the language naturally or used a potion. Translation potions were expensive, and the recipes were guarded viciously by their creators. The DOM had a Potions Master on staff who brewed the translation potions as necessary. Harry had no doubt Severus Snape could brew some for Voldemort.

Both of them ignored the wine menu in favour of the food. They were in one of the restaurants that allowed ordering an appetiser and an entrée or an entrée and dessert together for a set price. Harry skipped over the appetiser and went straight for the desserts, desperate for something sweet. 

“Ready?” Tom asked. 

Harry nodded. “I think I’ll go for the duck and the passion fruit in mango juice with ice cream.”

Tom smiled, pleased, probably because Harry had listened to him and waved for the waiter. Again, he ordered for the two of them, and the waiter left them in silence. 

Harry stared at his hands, fingers trying to pick at the dead skin peeling off his fingertips. He struggled with his coordination and dropped his hands in frustration. He was furious, Harry realised, and the startling realisation nearly made him lose his anger. Harry was furious at Tom for letting Voldemort hurt him. Why? Tom owed him nothing. They were captor and victim, not Dom and sub or partners or even friends. He shouldn’t have felt betrayed because he shouldn’t even be trusting Tom.

But he did. He couldn’t even pinpoint when it had happened. When Tom saved him from Bellatrix? When he took Harry out for dinner? During one of the scenes or times when Harry had knelt next to him and ate from his hands? Harry’s trust was the most sacred thing he could ever give someone, and he had given it to this arsehole. 

Harry hated his life.

The food came, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between them. Harry dug into the duck, the sauce and meat delicious. His hunger returned in full force, and Harry focused on eating as fast as he could and avoided speaking to Tom.

“I won’t say I’m sorry,” Tom said, “because that implies I won’t do it again. I will. He will want another show at the end of your training period. I’ll be there this time.” 

Again? Merlin, he didn’t know if he could make himself walk into position, knowing he would be _crucioed_ with Tom standing back and watching. “You didn’t do anything,” Harry bit out.

“We both know that’s not true.” 

“Is this your version of an apology?” 

Tom sneered. “I don’t apologise.” 

But this was something. Coddled in bed, taken away from the compound, fed expensive food, and not punished for rudeness. None of this could stop Harry’s ire, though. He stabbed the duck and refused to meet Tom’s eyes. 

“What’s going to happen in this show?” Harry finally asked. 

“I don’t know. It’s going to be bad.”

“At least you aren’t mincing your words.”

“You should know what you’re getting into.” Tom took a deep breath. “There’s a chance I’ll violate some of your hard limits.”

Harry flinched. He definitely had not missed that Tom carefully skirted his hard limits during their time together even though that list had been a map telling Tom exactly how to hurt him the most. “Why didn’t you already?”

“I don’t want to break your mind and have you relying on me for every little thing, unable to act on your own.” Tom’s lips curled in disgust at the thought.

“What do you want?”

Tom smirked and leaned forward, eyes digging holes into Harry. “Your soul.” 

Harry snorted. “What are you, a vampire?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. How did you even graduate? Vampires drink blood.”

“For the life force that a soul can provide a thousand-fold.” Harry had read that in one of the blasted books he had been forced to dig through for Tom’s useless questions and memorised that little tidbit in case Tom ever asked him. In the two weeks he had spent here, Harry had picked up more random facts than he had in his entire time at Hogwarts. 

The look of surprise on Tom’s face sent a rush of satisfaction through Harry. “And they say you can’t teach a new dog new tricks.” 

“Woof,” Harry deadpanned. 

By the time dessert came, the banter had eased Harry’s nerves enough and he managed to stop thinking about being _crucioed._ Part of him wanted to run away right here and now, but he doubted he would get far.

He had survived the last time with his mind intact. He would survive the next time too, let Tom ship him back to the DOM, and decimate Voldemort’s organisation. He had to. 

* * *

Tom brought them back to the muggle flat and immediately pinned Harry to the wall, kissing and sucking his throat. Harry titled his head back in a moan to give Tom better access. His hands itched to fumble at Tom’s clothes—he hadn’t even seen Tom nude yet—but with his hands held over his head, there was nothing he could do but stand there and take it. 

“Strip,” Tom ordered breathlessly. He ground his hips against Harry’s, pushing their cocks together. The bulge in Tom’s trousers told Harry the man was definitely aroused, and Harry sped up at the thought of getting fucked by a hard cock rather than plastic dildos and vibrators. 

He fumbled his buttons and pushed his trousers and pants down to the ground in a single move, just to tangle them with his shoes. Harry cursed and undid the laces. He kicked his shoes to the side along with the trousers and pants. Socks went flying, followed by his shirt.

“Remember these?” Tom held up the new paddle and candles Harry had bought.

Harry stilled, eyes wide. His erection jutted up, unable to hide his interest. 

Tom set the toys on the bed and sat down, legs hanging over the edge. “First, I’m going to shave you. Get a towel, place it on the bed, and lie face up.”

Harry scrambled to obey. His pulse raced when he saw Tom standing over him with a razor in his hand, but he wasn’t afraid. He didn’t have time to consider that before Tom was carefully scraping the hair off his chest in preparation for wax play. The blade went lower and lower until Tom was carefully running it over Harry’s cock and balls. The scrape of metal in such a sensitive place made Harry tense, but there was no sharp pain of a razor cutting too deep. 

“Turn around,” Tom ordered. 

Harry flopped to his stomach inelegantly. He flinched when the razor touched his arse, but Tom was as careful as before. Tom’s fingers traced the smooth skin when he was done, making Harry shiver.

“So pretty and sensitive. Now clean up and put yourself over my lap.”

He brought the towel back to the bathroom, tossing it in the dirty clothes hamper. Then, Harry returned to Tom, who was sitting at the foot of the bed, and manoeuvred himself so that his legs were off the bed, toes touching the metal bed frame. His arms stretched out over his head, and his arse was right on top of Tom’s thighs. Tom held his body in place and brought his hand down on Harry’s arse.

It was not a light warm up strike. The crack made Harry’s heart jump and pain bloomed. Tom rubbed the area lightly, soothing the hurt. He spanked the other cheek twice in rapid succession and waited. 

The spanks were spread throughout his arse and thighs, and they _hurt._ Of course they did. However, in Harry’s body, the pain morphed to pleasure, and each strike felt like a stroke of his cock. He erection was pinned under his body, and Harry tried to rub against Tom, get some friction. 

“You know better than that, darling,” Tom said, and Harry stilled with a whimper. “Ready for something more?” 

“Yes, sir,” Harry breathed.

The paddle wasn’t unexpected. The built-in holes made each strike hurt more, and Harry squirmed and writhed over Tom’s lap. His arse felt like fire, and each blow hurt so good. Merlin, he was going to come from this.

Right as the thought crossed his head, Harry orgasmed. Pleasure rushed through his veins, and he would have collapsed if he weren’t already lying down. Merlin, it had been so long, felt even longer with the daily edging and orgasm control.

“I want to see your face,” Tom said, “the next time you come.” 

Next time? Tom flipped Harry onto his back, and Harry stared at him in a post-orgasm daze, watching him grab a beige candle. It lit on its own. Harry stared at the flickering light, following it with his eyes, his brain free of thoughts. He relaxed into the sheets and watched Tom tilt the candle, dripping wax onto himself. He hissed and pried the cooling wax off. It had left a small angry red mark behind. 

“Perfect,” Tom purred. He moved up to the bed to where he placed Harry and held the candle around a foot above his body. Harry’s eyes stayed glued to the candle. A drop of wax fell and hit his abdomen. It was hot, but not burning, and Harry let out a blissful sigh. 

Tom led a trail of wax up his chest, circling his nipples before striking them directly. The wax hardened, pulling his nipple as though a mouth was sucking intensely. Harry arched his back, chasing the fleeting pleasure.

“How are you doing?” Tom asked, his dark eyes warm. 

A flicker of irritation rose at the check-in, but it faded quickly. “I’m fine, trainer,” Harry breathed out, barely remembering that this wasn’t a Dom looking for a safeword.

A smile gentled Tom’s face. “You ready for more?” 

“Yes, sir.”

Wax dripped across Harry’s body. The warmth lulled him half-asleep, and he stretched out, giving Tom better access. The sheets rubbed against his sore arse, and Harry shifted again to feel more. 

“Stay still, darling,” Tom chided, lightly smacking Harry’s legs. The slap went straight to his cock, and arousal curled in his gut.

He whimpered but stilled. The next drop of wax hit the space below his belly button, Tom making his way down. Harry’s cock hardened as he realised Tom’s goal. 

The wax struck his sensitive cock, and a scream tore out of Harry’s throat. He hardened fully, still sensitive from his first orgasm. Tom dripped three drops of wax down Harry’s hard cock before circling back up to his balls. The heat engulfed him, and Harry rocked his hips, desperate to get some friction.

He heard an exhale and opened his eyes to see the candle extinguished. Tom set it to the side and wrapped his fist around Harry’s cock. His strokes were slow and steady, teasing the skin around the wax, playing with the slit and foreskin until Harry thought he would end up out of his mind. 

“Please, trainer,” Harry groaned. 

“Please what?” 

“Let me come, trainer, please. I’ll do whatever you want, please, please, please.” 

“You beg so prettily, darling.” But Tom’s hand moved faster, and Harry strained to stay still and not push Tom into going faster.

His second orgasm was a slow wave that still almost took harry by surprise. Tom continued stroking Harry’s cock until oversensitivity had Harry squirming and trying to get away. Tom chuckled and let Harry go. 

“I’m going to get the wax off you now,” Tom said. 

Harry let out a hum, the most he could do with his brains leaked out in his come. The fingers prying off the hard bits of wax were gentle and soft, lulling Harry into a blissful haze. He sank into a sleep so deep that a hippogriff could have broken into the house and Harry wouldn’t have realized a thing. 

In the morning, he opened his eyes to sunlight streaming in through the window, his body inexplicably light as though a heavy weight he had been carrying around his whole life had been removed. Harry turned, searching for Tom. 

The man was sitting next to him in bed as usual, and he smiled beautifully at Harry. “Ready to head back?” 

“I guess, trainer,” Harry agreed reluctantly.

Tom handed him a clean set of his prison clothes and Harry dressed, enjoying the feeling of scratchy cloth against his sore arse. He held Harry close as he apparated them, his body extruding unusual warmth that made Harry want to cuddle close.

* * *

During the week after Voldemort hurt Harry, Tom didn’t treat Harry any differently. Harry was grateful. The knowledge that he would soon have to endure Voldemort’s attentions once more constantly lurked in the back of Harry’s mind. It would hit him at the most random of times and send his heartbeat skittering in terror. He was a wreck, seeing monsters in shadows wherever he went. 

It didn’t help that more and more of Voldemort’s followers were making an appearance. Harry lost the quiet times he had with Tom, and he spent more than one meal in the enormous dining room kneeling on the floor. Tom didn’t provide a pillow in these cases, and his knees always ached by the end. With a Dom, Harry could have sunk into the headspace where nothing but his Dom mattered and his thoughts could drift in random directions. For that to happen, he needed to feel safe.

He didn’t. Harry heard every derogatory comment, flinched every time someone passed them, and only ate because Tom still fed him by hand. Each bite worsened his nausea, and Harry was terrified he would lose control of his stomach one day. 

When Tom announced they were apparating at the end of Harry’s third week, Harry’s relief was probably visible on his face. They went to Tom’s muggle flat, and Tom handed him another set of clothes. He changed quickly, eager to go to wherever Tom had planned. 

Things didn’t go that way.

“There’s some work I need to complete. Some of it I can do on my own. The rest, you will do for me.” Tom handed Harry a piece of paper rather than parchment with a handwritten list of tasks. “You have four hours. Any questions?”

Harry looked through the list. Clean the flat, organise the refrigerator, purchase groceries, make lunch for himself, buy a mini video recorder that ran on battery not Wi-Fi and a disposable camera, and organise Tom’s books by genre and author surname. “May I have some notes for the items that require purchasing, trainer?” 

Tom handed him a wallet and Harry looked through its contents. More than enough. Merlin, he’d be terrified about being mugged while carrying this much money on him when he left. 

“I’ll see you in four hours, darling.” Tom left with a crack.

Harry stood alone in the flat. He could leave right now. Go back to the DOM. Reassure his parents he was alive. With Tom’s funds, he even had the money to get to London and enter Diagon Alley. Harry stripped off the clothes he had been given and searched them carefully for tracking charms. He held the clothes up to the sun, looking for glimmers of magic as light refracted through the fabric. 

Nothing. 

He entered the bathroom to look himself over. He had a few bruises from being spanked, and he prodded the marks carefully. Harry’s fingers came away clean without the tingle of magic. He ran his hands over the parts of his back he couldn’t see, searching for any signs of a tracking charm. Also clean. 

Finally, Harry stared at the mirror, looking over his reflection. In three weeks, he had lost weight, too much weight. His cheeks were sunken and black circles adorned the space beneath his eyes. His hair had lengthened, and Harry pushed the strands up. 

His neck was clear, but a tiny lightning-shaped scar stood out his forehead. It had been there almost his entire life, ever since a piece of wood struck him as an infant after a house invasion gone wrong. Throughout his entire life, it had been an angry red, as though it were new. His parents had taken him to the healers’ multiple times, but they could never repair it despite the advances in healing potions. 

However, now it looked scabbed over as though it were healing. Had Tom done something? Harry touched it gently, and his fingers tingled a little like they had touched a fading spell. Harry squinted and moved his head side to side, trying to see if he could figure out what Tom had done. 

No luck.

“Fuck,” Harry swore. “Shite. Fucking shite.” He couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a tracking charm. Which meant he couldn’t go back to the DOM, and he definitely wasn’t about to bring Voldemort to his family home. 

His freedom lay so close that he could almost taste it, but Harry couldn’t go. Angry tears ran down Harry’s face, and he wiped his eyes in fury. He wasn’t going to give up. There was a countdown to when Tom would send him back to the DOM. Just a little more than a week and it would be a month. He could do it. He would complete the random list of tasks, and he would show Tom he hadn’t tried to escape. 

Harry started with the flat, vacuuming the carpets and dusting the shelves. The flat was small and well organised, and the task only took him forty minutes. Next, Harry checked the refrigerator. There were a few jars of jam, but other than that, it was empty. Harry grabbed Tom’s wallet and left the flat. It took him a few minutes to figure out the address, and once he had a street name. Harry hailed a black taxi to take him to the closest Tesco. 

He went for the electronics first. They had a small selection of video recording devices, but the majority of them were too big to be considered “mini.” Finally, Harry settled with a device that resembled a button with a motion detector and a hundred minutes of life. He got a small black camera for 400 photos. 

Groceries next. Tom hadn’t specified what or how much he wanted, and Harry took that to mean that he had the freedom to choose whatever. He had seen Tom eat enough times to know what the man liked, and he tossed a variety of fresh vegetables and fruits and packaged meat into the basket. At the last second, Harry grabbed a package of instant noodles. Once that was done, he paid for everything and got another taxi to take him back to Tom’s flat. 

He poured water in a pot and set it on the stove, then put everything but the noodles into the refrigerator. He tore open the plastic packaging and dumped the seasoning and soup packet into the pot. The water boiled, and Harry dumped the dried noodles in. He dug through Tom’s cupboards until he found a fork to stir. The noodles boiled for a few minutes, a savoury aroma spreading through the kitchen. 

Once done, Harry brought it to the wooden table and inhaled the food straight from the pot. Quick, delicious, and unhealthy, just the way he liked it. Once he was done, he cleaned the dishes and set them out to dry on the drying rack. He had just under an hour and a half to organise Tom’s books. 

Thankfully, the makeshift library wasn’t as big as the one in the mansion. A large bookshelf stood in the living room, filled to the brim with books. Harry had never imagined Tom reading muggle books, but there were paperbacks from muggle authors Harry recognised in addition to thick magical books. 

Harry looked through the shelves, trying to figure out exactly what genres Tom owned. He saw a lot of non-fiction, and he started pulling similar books off shelves. First, he separated them into muggle and magical. His stumbled when he saw BDSM books, ones he had read himself. The spines were creased from reading. So Tom really had at least looked into kink before, not that Harry expected any less. Harry flipped through, wondering what Tom had spent the most time looking at. 

CBT, not surprising. Harry’s cock ached at the sight of some of the diagrams, and he found himself squeezing his legs together to protect himself. Bondage, different kinds of impact play, temperature play, and chemical play. Merlin, never mind, Harry didn’t want to know. He shut the books and set them in the muggle pile, his cheeks burning. 

He looked through the magical ones instead. A surprising amount of soul magic. Most of these books were illegal. Curiosity made Harry opened one of the books with a bookmarked page and skimmed it. The text was dense, and he didn’t understand a significant chunk, but at least he had learned to not let his eyes glaze over. Why would Tom be interested in how much soul a person needed to survive? 

Harry remembered the deadpan response when he asked Tom what the man wanted. At the time, Harry had thought Tom was joking about wanting his soul, but now, he wasn’t so sure. A chill crawled up his back.

Harry checked the clock and cursed. Fifty minutes to go. Harry filed that fact away and started organising the books into smaller piles based on subject. He shelved them from bottom up, cursing each time he found a book in the wrong pile and had to reshelf.

With ten minutes to go, Harry held an old diary in his hand. Tom’s diary. He had already shamelessly flipped through, but the pages were blank. A crack sounded through the air, and Harry panicked. He shoved the book straight into the BDSM area and straightened, clasping his hands behind his back and waiting for Tom to acknowledge him.

Tom walked around, eyes surveying the flat. Harry heard the sound of the refrigerator opening and closing and dishes clinking. He passed Harry and looked over the shelf. Harry held his breath.

“Did you find this educational?”

“Yes, trainer.” 

“What did you learn?” 

“That you have a shitton of books, trainer,” Harry said blandly.

Tom let out a chuckle at that. “Anything else?” 

Harry hesitated, not sure if he wanted to talk about the BDSM books, the soul magic, both, or neither. “That you have terrifying interests, trainer,” he finally said.

“Oh?” Tom prowled closer, a predatory smirk on his face. “Tell me more.” 

He backed up, trying to increase the distance between them. His back hit the corner of the room, and Harry froze, no place to run to. 

Tom cupped his cheek with a warm hand and kissed him softly. “Well? Don’t leave me hanging.”

“We haven’t done chemical play yet, trainer,” Harry rasped. 

Tom pushed a leg in between Harry’s thighs, and Harry ground his hardening cock, searching for friction. “Is that something you want?” he murmured. “Me to put ginger up your arse and then spank you? Or maybe we can see if you can bring yourself off with peppermint oil. Oh, the possibilities.”

Harry stared at Tom in a daze, images flashing through his head. He had tried figging once but not alongside impact play, and he had heard from more than one sub about how intense the experience could be. The struggle between relaxing and allowing the spanking to strike a larger area or tensing and increasing the burn inside made subs cry and beg for relief. Harry knew that no amount of begging would make Tom stop before he was ready to stop, and that knowledge made him all the harder. 

The man pulled back suddenly. “What else did you see?” he asked, straightening his clothes. 

“Sir?” 

“In my flat.” 

“Um.” Harry licked his lips and tried to find a working brain cell. “You possess enough illegal materials that can earn you up to a year in prison.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Soul magic is only illegal because the Ministry seeks to control what knowledge people possess, and it’s only illegal for a certain part of the wizarding population.” 

“Yes, everyone not with the Department of Mysteries,” Harry said dryly.

He arched an eyebrow. “Would you like me to get rid of my illegal collection?” 

“Yes, trainer.” 

“Fine. I suppose I can part with these now.”

The concession shocked Harry, and he stared wide-eyed as Tom began pulling books off his shelf. 

“Get me a box or bag for these.” 

“Right now, trainer?” 

“Does it look like I need it right now?” 

“Yes, trainer.” Harry darted off to the kitchen for the grocery bags he had brought back with him. He watched Tom package priceless books just because Harry had made an offhand comment and clear the area of soul magic. 

“Ready to head back?” Tom asked. 

Harry took his hand and let him whisk them back to his prison.

* * *

The ease leading up to the final hours grated on Harry’s nerves. He would have preferred anything else, even having his cock caged and shocked randomly and never knowing when Tom would feel merciful, to the nice, coddled way Tom treated him. All it did was make him think about the upcoming demonstration more and the fear that Voldemort would kill him during it or at the end.

Harry knew he wasn’t broken, no matter what Tom said, just a little bent. Perhaps also well-trained as a sub perhaps and only because of his past. He wasn’t even sure he had Stockholm syndrome, but he also knew he wasn’t objective enough to make the assessment.

A part of him ached at the idea of leaving Tom, but that was more because this was the most compatible person Harry had been with in a long time. If only Tom had been a muggle and Harry had met him when he was young and wild. 

“You look pensive,” Tom commented. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Muggle kink clubs, trainer,” Harry said honestly. 

“Have you been to many?” 

“I guess, quite a few, yeah.” Harry leaned back on his heels and stared up at Tom. “You would have made a good Dom if you didn’t spend all your time abducting people.”

Tom snorted. “Thanks for your vote. That means so much.” 

Arsehole. 

At least that had taken Harry’s thoughts away from his upcoming doom for a second. He shifted his weight off his legs and to the side and leaned his head in the corner made by Tom’s legs and the couch. Harry checked the time again. 

“Thirty-five minutes,” Tom said.

There were situations when Harry could be patient. When he was in position waiting for a Dom. When he was settling in for a long stakeout.

Waiting to be tortured though? That just made his nerves worse. Some used psychological tricks to break their victims mentally before starting on them physically. Harry had been trained to withstand that. He could wait thirty-five more minutes.

Tom rested a hand on Harry’s head, a comforting weight that distracted Harry. It didn’t escape Harry’s notice that Tom hadn’t turned a page for at least twenty minutes. He was nervous, and that made Harry even more nervous. “I got you something,” he said suddenly. 

Harry tilted up his head curiously. Tom handed him an adorable stuffed bear. It wore a Slytherin-coloured jacket with three black buttons holding the cloth together. “Thank you, trainer.” He squeezed the bear tightly, feeling ridiculously like a child but also safe with Tom’s present. 

The minutes counted down. Ten minutes before the arranged time, Tom led Harry to the dining room. 

Someone had removed the furniture, leaving only empty space behind. Voldemort’s followers had all congregated for the show, and Tom greeted each by name as he passed them. Harry saw the way they kept their eyes on Tom, and his wariness rose. Either they respected Tom, or they were terrified of him. Despite all the time he had spent with Tom, Harry had failed to determine exactly where Tom stood in Voldemort’s organisation. Part of him wanted to hope that Tom wasn’t too high in the hierarchy, but he knew it wasn’t too likely when everyone else was part of Voldemort’s suspected inner circle. 

A cackle stopped Tom from moving through the crowd. “Did you really get toys for your toy, Tom?” Bellatrix cooed at Harry, and Harry barely stopped himself from flinching. His palm sweated where he held the fur of the teddy bear. 

Tom’s body language shifted, distancing himself from Harry and adding a slight swagger to his walk. “Of course,” he drawled. “I reward my pets for good behaviour.” He ruffled Harry’s hair and pushed his head downwards.

Harry dropped to his knees, head bowed. His hand kept a hold of the teddy bear, a small comfort in a terrible situation. He didn’t move when Bellatrix nudged him harshly with her heels, the spiky end digging into his flesh. 

“Enough, Bella,” a cold voice cut in. A memory of the same voice saying _crucio_ nearly sent Harry fleeing. Voldemort’s appearance ratcheted up Harry’s heartbeat, and he tightened his grip on the bear even more. “Tom, how goes the boy’s training?”

“See for yourself.” 

“He did impress me last I saw him, but I thought we could do something…different this time.” The tails of a whip dropped to the floor in front of Harry’s eyes.

A cat-o-nine. Of all the torture implements the wizarding world had to take from the muggle one, it had to be a bloody terrifying whip. 

“A present for you for doing such a good job, Tom. Why don’t you try it out on him?” 

Harry stiffened, waiting to see what Tom would do. 

“How considerate of you,” Tom remarked flatly. The tails drifted out of Harry’s line of sight, and Harry knew Tom had accepted the whip. “Up.” 

He stood in a fluid motion and followed Tom to the ornate back wall. 

“Strip and get in position,” Tom ordered. 

Harry dropped the bear and removed his clothes efficiently. He could feel dozens of eyes on him, and he wished Tom had put him in chastity or anything for cover. With no alternative, Harry lifted his palms to place them flat against the wall. He spread his legs shoulder width. Tom had given him no prep and no warm-up. The cat-o-nine was a brutal whip. 

This would be painful.

The first lash caught Harry by surprise, and his head thumped against the wall as his back burnt. Had Tom drawn blood? Tom gave him no time to rest before lashing him again, this time against his thighs. 

Harry tried not to beg for Tom to stop.

He failed.

* * *

The laughter and comments from Voldemort’s death eaters kept Harry in a state of hyper attention, and he felt every blow Tom delivered. Blood trickled from the wounds, running down his legs. Harry didn’t know how his legs held him up, only that they did, and he was grateful for that. Tears slid down his face, but Harry forced himself to not let his body shake. It would only make things worse. 

It took Harry a moment to realise the blows had stopped. 

“Done already, Tom?” Voldemort commented. 

“I’d prefer not to kill him after all the work I put in,” Tom said dryly. “I’ll take him back to the DOM.” 

“So quick to be done with him?” 

“Look at him. The pathetic thing can’t take anymore. What would I do with a broken toy? At least he looks so pitiful the DOM will instantly take him back.” 

“If you’re wrong—”

“I’m not. Pet.” 

Harry turned to face Tom, his body shaking from exhaustion. 

“You’ll be good for me, won’t you? You won’t tell them anything about what happened here?” 

He took the hint. “No, trainer. I was placed in a cell. I never saw anyone.”

“I had fun today. Betray me, and I’ll have some more fun with you.” 

“I won’t, trainer. I promise.” 

“Satisfied?” Tom directed at Voldemort. 

“We’ll see. Take him, then.” 

Tom picked up the bear he had given Harry and guided him out of the room. More than one of the followers slapped his wounds as he passed, sending jolts of pain through his body. Outside, Tom rubbed a quick numbing gel over the wounds, his hand brutally efficient. He dressed Harry and apparated them.

They were in Diagon Alley. The familiar sight froze Harry in his steps. Tom pressed the bear to Harry. “Can you make your way back?” he asked. 

He shook his head even though the refusal terrified him. 

“Why not.” 

“Tracker.” 

“There’s no tracker on you.” 

“My scar,” he rasped. 

Tom’s face blanked. “There’s no tracker on you. I swear on my magic. Go, Harry. Let the healers check you over.” He left with a crack. 

Harry stumbled to the secret passageway. His fingers barely managed to enter the code before his eyes rolled back and the stone stairs approached him with startling speed.

* * *

The prickling made Harry twist, trying to get away. Fire shot through him, and Harry barely held back a scream. 

“Mr Potter! Stay calm! You’re safe!” 

He struggled, his brain unable to comprehend the words. Multiple sets of hands held him down, and his strength failed him. Slowly, his vision cleared, and he saw bright lights shining down on him and worsening the headache. 

“You’re in the healer’s ward of the DOM, Mr Potter. You have been recovering from heavy injuries. You’re safe here.” 

Harry squinted at the healer. “What happened?” he tried to say, but the words got caught in his throat. Someone handed him a cup of water, and he sipped gratefully. “What happened?” he tried again.

“You’ve been missing for a month, Mr Potter,” the person who gave him the water said. “We found you yesterday on the doorsteps of the DOM. Can you tell us what happened to you? What are these pictures?”

“Pictures?” Harry echoed. 

“You can question him later, Mr Diggory,” the healer snapped. “Right now, he needs rest.”

“Of course. My apologies.” A cool hand brushed his forehead, and Harry shut his eyes, drifting into oblivion again.


	3. One Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Tom/Cedric/Harry (one scene), kink negotiation, safewords, no safewords, breathplay, sex toys, orgasm delay/denial, impact play (spanking), exhibition, bondage, gags, suspension, chemical play, multiple orgasms
> 
> Please note that there's a scene in which Harry is talking to an assigned therapist, but I have no experience with therapy and this is likely an unrealistic portrayal.

If there was one thing to hate about working for the DOM, it was the Unspeakable post-mission briefings. Sit with a hooded figure. Talk about everything that happened. Wait for judgment. 

Failed missions resulting in a month-long captivity also required briefings apparently. Not that Harry was doing so well with his.

“I didn’t take these pictures,” he said. “I’ve never seen these before. I told you, Tom must have been the one to do so.” He looked at the unmoving muggle-print pictures of Voldemort’s followers and Voldemort himself, more than one including illegal materials. 

“Yes, you identified this man as Tom.” The Unspeakable placed an old, faded picture in front of him. 

“Except this picture is from decades ago, and I saw this man just last week.” Harry scowled. “Can’t you just use those photos as evidence for a trial?” 

“You and I both know these will never hold up in a magical trial.” 

Unfortunately, that was true. This was evidence, but muggle-tainted evidence. Sometimes, Harry hated the wizarding justice system. “I know,” Harry said, exhausted. “There’s nothing I can do about it.” 

“I didn’t mean to imply you should do any differently. You responded as well as you could in that situation.” 

“Thank you,” he said automatically without meaning it.

“Another thing. We debated over whether to reveal this information to you, but it was decided that you should know.” The Unspeakable pushed the old picture towards Harry. “This man was recently identified as Voldemort.” 

Harry choked. “Tom is Voldemort’s son?” 

“There is no evidence that this man ever fathered a child. Mr Potter, have you ever seen Tom and Voldemort in the same room?” 

“Yes! Tom isn’t Voldemort!” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to contain his outburst. “There has to be an explanation. Are we done for today?” 

“Yes. Mr Diggory will accompany you home.” 

Harry got the hell out of that room. 

Cedric sat in a waiting chair outside, reading a file. He shut it the moment he saw Harry and stood. “How was today?” he asked. 

“Exhausting,” Harry grumbled. “Can we go?” 

“Of course.” 

They apparated to Cedric’s flat. Cedric had oh so graciously offered a spare room in his flat for Harry even though Harry would have preferred to go to his old home, but his flat had been taken apart after the DOM failed to locate him. Alternatively, he could go to his childhood home. The DOM had told his parents that Harry had been critically injured in a spell crafting accident to explain his absence, and it itched at Harry to look at their terrified faces and lie. 

Okay, maybe he wouldn’t have preferred going back to live with his parents. To have that choice taken away rankled though, especially when Harry knew that Cedric had been tasked by the DOM to keep an eye on him and make sure he hadn’t been turned. Being watched day and night felt like he had left one prison only to enter another.

“You have a meeting with Daphne in three hours,” Cedric reminded Harry. Daphne was the DOM-assigned mind healer to help him cope with the aftereffects of captivity.

He took a deep breath and tried not to feel like he was being managed even though that was exactly what was happening. At least Cedric was trying to be nice about it, and it wasn’t his fault. “Thank you for the reminder,” he said and escaped to his room before he could say anything unkind. Trained submission had only done so much to curb his temper and tongue.

Tom’s bear sat on the bed. Ridiculous for him to feel such an attachment to a stuffed animal given to him by a captor, though Daphne had reassured him that it was normal for Harry to see the stuffed animal as an extension of Tom and to use it as a proxy. 

Harry groaned and dropped onto the bed, shoes and all. He buried his face into the bear, and one of its buttons dug into his face. “Fuck you,” he muttered, voice muffled by the fur. Great, now he was talking to inanimate objects. Tom couldn’t even have given him a magical bear that moved its arms. 

He moved his head back and stared at the bear.

Wait.

What?

Harry sat up so fast that the world spun. Gingerly, he lifted the bear, bringing it closer to his face. No, he hadn’t seen wrong. Merlin, how had he missed this?

He knew exactly how he had missed this. Harry had selected this mini video recorder because it was easily hidden. Now, how was he supposed to get this damn thing off the bear? 

It took Harry an hour of careful cutting with Cedric’s knives because wizards had failed to invent scissors. Thank Merlin Cedric left Harry alone in his room with full privacy because by the time he was done, it looked like a cotton storm had gone off in here, the bear’s stuffing scattered everywhere. Still, he managed to extract the device and take it apart. It was on a closed loop which meant, even if the battery hadn’t already died, no one could view the footage without the SD card. 

He lifted the tiny, fragile chip and stared at it. Now, how was he supposed to read this data? 

Harry sighed and went to knock on Cedric’s door.

“Harry! Is something wrong?” 

The look of concern on Cedric’s face had Harry plastering a smile on his own. “No. Can we stop by an electronics store?”

* * *

It took them a ridiculously long time to figure out how to look at an SD card. Harry may have been familiar with the muggle world but not nearly enough to understand machines, and he felt horrible for the woman helping them at the store. He finally settled on a phone connected to a device that would allow him to view the data when he put the SD card in and connected the device to the phone with a USB cord. 

Right as they apparated back to Cedric’s flat, the air started vibrating, a delayed _tempus_ appearing beside him. Fuck, he needed to go to the DOM. Harry grabbed Cedric and apparated to the lobby of the mind healer department. Cedric sat in his usual chair, and Harry entered Daphne’s office.

He sat still for a minute before shifting in his seat and tapping his hands on his thigh quickly.

“You seem distracted,” Daphne said. “Is something wrong?” 

Harry forced his jittery leg to still and his hands to clasp together in his lap. “No.” Daphne had told him on the first day that anything he said in this room was confidential. She wouldn’t share it with anyone, not even the director of the DOM. Despite that, he was wary of revealing information.

“How have you been doing?” 

He shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

Daphne smiled, her dark eyes glimmering. “Just fine?”

“Better than last week.” The phantom pains of his back had faded, and Harry had stopped touching the skin and expecting his fingers to come away with blood. His back was smooth, the work of multiple healing potions. 

“And Tom?” 

“I still think about him.” He stared at his hands. “Do you think he succeeded? Did he turn me?” 

“I think it’s normal to miss him,” Daphne responded calmly. “Do you want to talk about what happened with him?” 

Before, Harry had stayed vague about most of it, not sure how receptive Daphne would be to kink considering her pureblood upbringing, but, now, he found himself talking about what had happened in the past month. The words fell out of his mouth as he described the way Tom brought him to subspace and the aftercare he delivered that made Harry feel like he was safe and secure. When Daphne didn’t tell him he was ill for his desires, the words came out faster as though the more he spoke, the faster the invisible weight trying to drive him into the ground would free him.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” Daphne said when he was done. “I’ll admit that I’m not familiar with kink and BDSM, but I’ll do some research in preparation for our next session. Would you like to recommend me some books to read? Alternatively, I can see if a colleague has more experience and you can switch to a different mind healer.” 

Her willingness to learn made Harry smile. “Can I have a piece of paper? I’ll write down some titles for you to look at. You’ll have to go to the muggle world for them, though.” 

“Perfect.” She pushed a blank notepad over.

He thought about the titles he had seen in Tom’s flat and he selected two of the introduction to BDSM titles he had seen. Waving goodbye, he walked back to the lobby to apparate back with Cedric.

Cedric was nice enough to leave him alone with the electronics and in his room, Harry finally played the video recording. A video of Tom turning the device on and settling back on a chair appeared.

“Harry, I won’t say I’m sorry about what’s going to happen because, despite my best efforts, I don’t know what the future holds. I won’t say I’m sorry about what I’m going to do because if I were sorry, I would have never gone through with it. 

“I’ve thought a long time about where to start and how to start, and I suppose I might as well go chronologically. I was born in 1926 when my mother gave birth to me. I was born in 1943 when Voldemort removed almost half of his soul, 49% to be precise, and inserted it into a diary. You were attacked when you were an infant by Voldemort, during which an accidental soul transfer occurred. His soul went from 51% to 50%, and you gained something new. One week ago, I removed that soul piece from you and reabsorbed it. It has been so long that the soul piece has integrated with your soul, and I could not separate it from you fully. 

“I did not try to. A person can live as long as they have at least half of their soul, but I remain bound to Voldemort as long as I am fully Tom Marvolo Riddle. Now, I have enough of you inside me for a full separation to occur.

“I understand I violated your body and your trust. I am not sorry because to say I am sorry is to say I regret my actions, and I do not. I do not intend to justify myself or explain my actions. All I have to say is this: you lack the evidence to convict Voldemort, but the DOM knows of his illegal activities. Tell your boss I will testify against Voldemort’s followers. In exchange, I want full immunity. This is the location of the compound.” Tom rattled off the address. 

The video cut off. Harry dropped the phone, and his hand went to his forehead. With all the healing potions he had drunk, the scar was barely visible anymore. His fingers traced over the fading lines. “Fuck you, Tom,” he said. Apparently, Tom hadn’t been joking when he said he wanted Harry’s soul.

Harry took a deep breath and pushed his anger aside. He needed to get Cedric and go back to the DOM. 

* * *

**Three Months Later**

Harry’s shoulders sagged, a tension he had been carrying around for months gone. The last of Voldemort’s followers was finally found guilty for, among other things, possession of illegal books on soul magic, kidnapping a Ministry worker, and tax evasion. Aurors were transporting them to Azkaban, and he could finally stop feeling like a target was on his back, or worse, on Tom’s. 

Of course, Voldemort was still missing. The DOM had no news of his activities. The monster had hidden himself too well, but that also meant he couldn’t hurt anyone, and Harry had to satisfy himself with that. 

He knew Tom was safe. The DOM had agreed to his offer and placed him in a safehouse in the muggle world. Harry had overheard more than one agent talk about how much that would irritate Tom and how he deserved to live without magic. Harry kept his mouth shut about Tom’s muggle flat and let them talk.

It was a good thing they kept Tom’s location secret from Harry. The DOM didn’t trust him after Harry refused to tell them how he had the address of the compound and knew Tom would be willing to testify. More than once, Harry wanted to seek out Tom. Sometimes, he wanted someone to push him into the headspace where the world make sense and he felt safe. Other times, he wanted to rage at Tom for _stealing a part of his soul._

“Happy?” Cedric asked, coming up beside Harry. 

“Relieved,” Harry answered. They had known that the guilty sentence was extremely likely, but Harry had been terrified that one or more would bribe their way to freedom. Only the Malfoys had successfully done so, and they were far from the worst of the bunch. He could live with that. 

“What are you going to do now?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Are you staying with the DOM?” 

Harry stuck his hands into his pockets and hunched a little. “I don’t know,” he repeated. This place had been his life for ten years. Lies and subterfuge had driven his friends away. He had fond memories of Ron and Hermione, and they met up for lunch once every other month, but he could feel them drifting away as they created a life of their own. Thanks to the DOM, they hadn’t even realised he was missing, nor had they noticed anything was different during the last time they had lunch.

“Let’s go home? There was something I wanted to talk to you about.” 

“All right.” They apparated to the living room. Harry toed off his shoes and placed them on the rack by the front door as Cedric removed his coat and hung it on the rack. It was strangely domestic but nice. Over the months, Harry had grown used to Cedric’s presence, and he thought that it was probably a good thing he hadn’t been alone to do anything stupid.

“I was thinking about what you said a few weeks ago, about your penchant for sexual submission,” Cedric began.

Harry scowled. “Just because I like to sub in the bedroom doesn’t mean I can’t do my job. I won’t let people walk over me at work, and I won’t be meek or whatever. Submission doesn’t mean weakness, and I’m not a doormat.” He was tired of the assumptions people made about him whenever they heard about his preferences, and it made him sick to think Cedric was one of them after Harry trusted him enough to talk about what happened with Tom with someone other than Daphne.

Cedric paused for a moment. “I know that,” he said finally. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” 

“Oh.” He winced. “Sorry.” 

“Understandable. It’s a common reaction, right?” Cedric grinned. “No, I was thinking, if you felt up for it, you could visit one of those clubs you mentioned? I found the address of one that I thought we could stop by, and they have a beginner’s night tonight.” 

Harry choked. “You—what?” 

“Only if you want to. I know you said it’s something you enjoyed in the past, and I didn’t want you to lose something that made you happy because someone hurt you.” 

“And you would come with me?” he asked incredulously. Harry couldn’t see strait-laced Cedric in a BDSM club as a top, bottom, or switch. 

Cedric smiled apologetically. “Unfortunately, the DOM’s orders still stand.” Right. Harry still wasn’t allowed to be on his own. Merlin, he couldn’t wait for the babysitting order to be rescinded. 

“What’s the club?” 

“Collar Inside the Lines.” 

A pretty good choice, assuming nothing had changed since the last time Harry went. Called Collar by friends within and Lines in public, it was one of the safe, regulated clubs where the management ran background checks on everyone that passed through its doors, even on beginner’s nights. The background checks took time to process, and people interested had to register early. His membership had expired long ago, but there was a chance the people would still recognise him. Harry eyed Cedric. “How long have you been planning this?” 

“A few days after you told me,” Cedric answered without shame. “We got our invitations last week, but I didn’t want to bring it up until we knew the results of the trial.”

Unspeakables. Harry resisted rolling his eyes but only just. “Tonight then,” he agreed. “Thanks. I can transfigure something for us to wear. Did the tickets have a dress code listed?”

Cedric pulled a card out of an envelope. “They said ‘black and sexy’?”

“I can work with that.” 

* * *

Harry had never been a fan of newbies or newbie nights. There were too many arseholes who decided to masquerade as a Dom to find unwitting victims. Several couples looking to “experiment” ended up treating clubs as a free-for-all zone, even fucking in public spaces when it wasn’t allowed. They used furniture without checking if they could, they asked nosy questions, they treated subs as though they were objects of amusement rather than people, and they were just fundamentally _irritating._ Harry could feel his ire rising as he stood in the back listening to the people around him talk, and he regretted saying yes to Cedric.

At least Cedric was quiet. He walked around and looked at the displays but not invasively. He read the signs and stayed away from areas blocked off for the night. He didn’t immediately try to pick up a whip and go at it. 

Harry cringed from the sound of a whip cracking through the air, phantom aches crawling down his back again, and he turned to tell Cedric he was going to take an early night. A hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

“Harry?” an old but familiar voice called out.

He turned and grinned at the Domme. “Becca!” 

“What a surprise! It’s been what, five, six years?” She hugged him. Her head only came up to his lower chest even with stilettos that gave her an additional four inches, and that surprised him every time. Becca’s personality took up so much room that it felt like she should also physically take up enormous space, but she was tiny and adorable. She would also paddle him if he ever said that to her.

“Sounds about right, yeah,” Harry agreed. 

“What are you doing here? And on beginner’s night of all days?” 

“I’m here with a friend. Cedric!” 

At the sound of his name, Cedric turned, his eyes immediately finding Harry. 

Becca eyed him, and Harry held his breath. He wanted her to like him, he realised, but he didn’t know why it mattered. “Dom?” she asked. 

Cedric gave a slight shrug and a kind smile. “I’d like to think so,” he said. 

“Are you Harry’s Dom?” 

“No.” Cedric let out an embarrassed laugh that made his face even more handsome. “We’re roommates, and I was interested in a night out. I didn’t realise he was familiar with this club.” 

Becca snorted. “That’s definitely Harry. Never talks about anything personal and hoards secrets like a dragon hoards treasure. I suppose he didn’t tell you he doesn’t like beginner’s night either?”

“Ah, no.” 

Becca rolled her eyes. “If you’re looking for a Dom for him, make sure it’s one that will make him communicate.” 

“I’m right here!” Harry protested. “I communicate just fine with Doms.” 

“So it’s friends you have a problem with.” 

Harry scowled at her. 

“Six years,” she said. “No texts, no communication, nothing to tell me you’re alive.”

“I got busy with work,” he said.

“At least you didn’t trade us in for another club. How long has it been since you scened?” 

Harry thought about the underground clubs Becca would kill him for going to and carefully didn’t disagree. “A while,” he said.

“Come again another night and I’ll find you a Dom. Tell the front desk my name, and I’ll get you in as my guest. Cedric, you can come too if you want.” Becca handed him a card with the name of the club and her name underneath. No address, no title, no phone number, but the corner had the engraving of the club’s DM insignia, the same one on her leather jacket. “Excuse me while I go stop that wannabe Dom from taking out someone’s eye.” She pushed through the crowd.

“Sorry about tonight,” Cedric said with a wince. “I didn’t realise it would be so…”

“It wasn’t a bad night,” Harry reassured him. “We can do what she said and come back a different day if you want. It’s not like there’s much I’m doing at work and you’re stuck babysitting me.” 

“It’s not a chore. I like spending time with you.” 

Warmth spread through Harry’s chest. Maybe friendships weren’t beyond him after all.

* * *

They went back to Collar three days later and waited in the parlour. Becca greeted them a few minutes later, her red hair up in an elegant bun, DM jacket unzipped, corset tight, and heels terrifyingly tall. “Harry, Cedric, welcome back! May I see your limit list?” 

“Thanks, Becca.” Harry flashed a smile and handed over the small notecard. “Cedric’s only here to watch.” He hoped the scenes wouldn’t terrify Cedric into walking out and leaving him behind. 

“Not a problem.” Becca studied the list. “Whips are a hard limit?”

Harry forced himself to not react. “Yeah,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t push.

She didn’t. He wasn’t hers to push. “There are some Doms here I think will be a good fit. I’ll introduce you to them one at a time and let you talk, see if you feel compatible. Do you have a preference for men or women?”

“Not really.” With his partners, Harry cared less about gender and more about how dominant they were and how well their kinks matched up with his.

Becca arched an eyebrow, a silent order.

Harry winced. He had been away for too long. “No, ma’am,” he amended quickly and earned a pleased smile.

“Any questions or requests?” 

“No ma’am. Well, actually, I was wondering who here knows me.”

“Most of the DMs. I think there are two that might be after your time.” 

Well, fuck. The last time Harry was here, there were twelve DMs. He didn’t want to know how angry—or worse, disappointed—they were that he disappeared without a word. Merlin, if they thought he had died, he might really flee home.

Before Harry could think twice, Cedric nudged him forward, and he found himself walking into the main floor. The club had undergone a massive makeover for beginner’s night, but now that was over, they had reverted to the usual. Most of the furniture Harry was familiar with made a reappearance. There were a few new pieces that made him suck in a breath in a mixture of fear and anticipation. He stared wide eyed at a large transparent box that looked like a muggle magic disappearing box except where the magician would insert swords, there were holes for toys to use on a bound sub inside.

He managed to tear his eyes away from the display and ignore his increasing arousal to follow Becca to the bar. Collar had a two-drink limit to prevent drunk scenes, but Harry didn’t want alcohol to dull his senses.

She stopped by a man dressed in a simple tight black shirt and black jeans, hand holding onto a glass half filled with amber liquid. “Garrett, this is Harry.”

Harry took a deep breath and braced himself for the part he hated the most: kink negotiation with a Dom he didn’t know if he could trust. He smiled at the man and lowered his eyes, shifted his body language to look more submissive, and waited. 

“Sit, boy,” the Dom ordered. 

He flinched, a memory of Voldemort calling him that rising to the surface. “Please don’t call me that, sir,” he pleaded.

“Why not?” 

Harry thought about using his safeword and walking out of that conversation. Then, he imagined the look on Becca’s face if she found out and stayed sitting. “It’s personal, and I can’t talk about it, sir,” he said firmly. If the Dom wouldn’t respect that, he was leaving. No one could say he didn’t try.

“All right,” Garrett agreed. “Would you like to talk about your limits?”

He didn’t like the sound of that. Something about Garrett irked Harry. Garrett was too nice, asking when Harry wanted him to take. He felt wrong to Harry’s senses, and he didn’t look right either. His hair was too brown, he didn’t look sickly pale, and he was too big. Harry felt no arousal curling in his gut, and he was bored, rather than engaged. 

“Permanent marks, scat, water sports, blood play, knives, whips, name-calling,” he rattled off. The last one wasn’t on his notecard, but Garrett hadn’t asked for it. Another mark against him.

“Are you interested in a scene with me?” 

A scene, yes. Garrett, no. There was only one person Harry wanted, and he wasn’t here. “I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” he said and bolted. 

A hand caught him when he was near the entrance, and Harry struck out on instinct. Thankfully, Cedric dodged the blow easily. “What happened? Did that man do something?” 

“He was fine,” Harry said bitterly. “I’m the problem.”

“I’m taking you back to the flat. We can sit and talk about it.” Cedric apparated them when Harry didn’t object. He pushed Harry onto a chair and rummaged around his cupboards. Within minutes, Harry had a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of him. 

“Drink and talk,” Cedric ordered, sounding so much like a Dom that Harry obeyed on instinct. 

He blew on the liquid before sipping. The creamy taste of chocolate filled his mouth, warming his throat and stomach as he swallowed. “I miss Tom,” he said. “The DOM was right to bench me.”

“Why do you miss him?” Cedric didn’t ask the question judgingly, and for that, Harry searched for the words to answer him.

“The DOM thinks he tortured me, and I think, to someone else, what Tom did would have been torture. I want…to be controlled by someone I trust. I shouldn’t have trusted Tom, and I don’t think I did at first, but even when I didn’t, he could push me into subspace. He didn’t interrogate me during subspace, didn’t hurt me, didn’t push past my limits. I sound like a fool for praising that, but there were Doms in the past who I told secrets when I was in subspace. I want to believe I never forgot his purpose for taking me, but I think that there were moments when I chose not to remember, and when I didn’t remember, I could believe that we had what I wanted.” Harry let out a hollow laugh. “Sounds ridiculous, right?”

“Not at all. We do what we need to in order to survive.”

“I didn’t do it just to survive though.” Harry slumped back and squeezed the cup tightly. “This is going to sound horrible after everything I told you about all the safety measures in BDSM, but I never wanted to be safe. I wanted to find someone to trust enough to give up my safeword and surrender my life to them. I feel like this makes me sound as though I want to be abused and degraded until I have no sense of self-worth, but that’s not it. I’m not a doormat. I’m not going to lie there and let people walk all over me. If I choose to give myself to someone, I’m going to make damn sure they respect me and my limits.” 

“I don’t think that makes you sound like a doormat,” Cedric said. “I think you’re one of the strongest people I know, and the fact that you want to find someone worthy to give yourself to makes you one of the bravest people I know. The DOM kills our ability to trust, and I’m happy you haven’t lost that for yourself.”

“Even though that means I trusted an arsehole holding me prisoner?” 

“That trust was what helped you endure Voldemort, wasn’t it?” 

A weight fell off his shoulders, one he had been carrying around before he knew kink. Harry hadn’t realised that he needed to talk about the emotional turmoil twisting him up, but hearing Cedric tell him what he had already reasoned out for himself settled him. He was submissive, and he was anything but weak. He had endured, and he would overcome everything that had happened.

* * *

They didn’t go back to Collar. Harry was too embarrassed about running out of the club, and he also felt no urge to find a random Dom to tie him up and spank and edge him until he was a sobbing mess. Daphne cleared him psychologically, and Cedric said nothing about what Harry had told him. The DOM reinstated him as an Unspeakable.

Harry wasn’t sure he wanted it, but the alternative was sitting around Cedric’s flat and thinking about Tom, so he returned to work. They shifted him to the experimental division, and Harry spent his hours going over spell crafting proposals and trying not to wonder what Tom would think about this. He had his usual monthly lunch with Hermione and Ron and listened to them talk about their jobs and children, making an effort to open up and rebuild their friendship to its former strength.

In his free time, he searched for Voldemort, but there was no sign of him. The monster had disappeared when his followers were captured, and the loose end made Harry tense as he imagined an attack from behind. 

“We’re leaving,” Cedric said finally after Harry had hid in the DOM’s lab for three days straight. “Get up.”

“You don’t have to guard me anymore,” Harry protested. He stayed flatmates with Cedric, but that was out of preference rather than necessity after the DOM rescinded the babysitting order.

Cedric stared at him. “Up.”

The command in his voice made Harry stand before he could argue. Cedric side-along apparated Harry home. “Get changed. We’re going out.” 

Out. That could only mean one thing, and Harry had no interest in Collar. “I don’t want to,” he said, wincing at how whingy he sounded.

“Are you going to make me repeat myself.” Phrased as a question, but clearly, there was only one acceptable answer. 

If Harry had suspected Cedric had Dom tendencies before, he was definitely sure now. “Sorry,” he murmured and darted off.

He changed into a black muggle T-shirt, dark blue jeans, and trainers before hurrying back. Not exactly the best kink wear, but at least it fit within the club’s guidelines. Cedric ran his eyes over Harry once and held out his hand. Harry grasped it, bracing himself for another apparation.

They landed outside a club that definitely wasn’t Collar. It looked more like an abandoned car park, and Harry wouldn’t have stepped foot inside if he hadn’t known what laid beneath. But how had Cedric known? 

“I wanted to bring you here first, but we can go if you decide you really don’t want to be here,” Cedric said. “I know fantasy doesn’t meet up with reality, and it’s not a problem if this isn’t what you want. However, you should have the option. Every Dom through these doors is trained to read body language. They won’t violate your hard limits. The moment you step through those doors, you sign a consent form saying you understand you lose your right to say no. You’ll leave a copy of your hard limits on file and have another copy on hand in case you meet a Dom who wants to play with you. Welcome to Enigmatic.” 

Harry inhaled sharply. Enigmatic. He hadn’t been here in _years._ Its address was seared into his mind, and he had craved it so much that it scared him. “How do you know this place?” 

Cedric gave a sheepish smile. “I’ve been coming here for a few years now. I lied to you by omission when I let you think I had no experience in power exchanges, but I didn’t want you to become wary after you told me how much you valued the safety measures in clubs.” 

He could have slapped himself. He had only emphasised those safety measures because he hadn’t wanted Cedric to think he was an idiot. Before Harry could tell Cedric that he had been here before, Cedric asked, “Do you want to go in?” 

“Yes. I…” Harry trailed off and let Cedric nudge him forward. He would tell Cedric. Soon. When he was sure he wasn’t going to talk himself out of this too.

They went down the stairs to the basement storey of the car park. Cedric pushed open a thick metal door hidden in the corner, and they entered a well-lit parlour. The sub at the receptionist desk lowered her eyes at their arrival. “Yellow band for me, and blue for my companion,” he said. 

“Yes, sir,” she murmured and handed over two plastic wristbands. 

“The yellow is for Dom and blue is for sub,” he said quietly to Harry. Guilt built in Harry as he kept silent about already knowing this information, and he opened his mouth to tell Cedric. Before he could, Cedric pulled out two forms from the file cabinet against the wall. “Consent form for you to read and sign. Fill out your hard limits here.” 

Harry skimmed the consent form once to make sure it hadn’t changed since the last time he was here. He noticed that Cedric didn’t fill anything out, which meant his forms were already on file and he had a membership here. The consent form and contracts signed here wouldn’t hold up in court, but they were a part of the culture and symbolically everything the subs here craved. Harry scrawled his name at the last page and filled out his hard limits twice. He held his breath as Cedric returned the forms to the receptionist, wondering if she would see his old forms. 

She said nothing, and they passed onto the main club. 

The atmosphere was as tense as he remembered. Harry could identify several subs based on appearance; they were gagged, stripped down to nothing but a chastity belt, bound to the bar or furniture, or over the lap of a Dom and being spanked within an inch of their life. The bar had a no-fucking policy, but that didn’t stop the Doms from playing with a gagged sub strapped down on an end. Harry winced as a Domme ran ice cubes over the sub, drawing out muffled screams when she pressed one against the head of a half-hard cock that rapidly softened under the onslaught. 

“Don’t worry,” Cedric murmured against his ear. “I brought you here, and you’re mine for the evening. No one will touch you without my permission.” He slid an arm around Harry’s waist and led him to the part of the bar that wasn’t occupied by subs being tormented.

“Cedric, it’s been awhile,” the bartender said with a grin. She had no wristband, but her familiarity with Cedric made Harry guess that she was a Domme. “And you brought a guest. I thought you stepped out of recruitment and training.” Enigmatic had scouts search regular clubs for people engaging in unsafe play and bring them here before they got themselves killed, permanently injured, or imprisoned. Doms were trained, and subs were given a safe play speech before being placed with a trainer.

“He’s a friend,” Cedric said. “Be nice.” 

She arched an eyebrow. “If he belongs here, he doesn’t want nice.” 

“What passes for nice here then.”

“Give me your limit list,” the bartender said, this time directed at Harry. He automatically obeyed, handing over the card. She looked over it. “You can give him to Tom.” 

Harry froze at the name, instinctively looking around the club for a man he hadn’t seen in months.

“I was hoping to avoid him actually.” 

“Really? Did something happen between you two? It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you top together.” 

“No. Harry had a bad experience with a Dom of the same name.” Cedric shrugged. “Maybe I will introduce him. Do you have his location?” 

“Try the locker room. His DM shift ended ten minutes ago.”

Cedric guided Harry away from the bar towards the changing rooms in the back. “Tom is one of the trainers here. He’s experienced and he’ll push, but he won’t ignore your limits. But I understand if you’d rather not scene with him.”

“Wait. I have to tell you something.” Harry took a deep breath and looked around. There were too many people around for them to have privacy, and he grimaced at all the assessing eyes on him.

“Locker room. Let’s talk there.”

Cedric opened the door and ushered Harry in. There was only one other person in there. His back was turned to them, and he was pulling on a shirt. One of Enigmatic’s gold dungeon monitor uniforms was folded neatly on the bench. The man reached down to pick it up. His head turned slightly, and he stiffened.

“Fuck me twice,” Harry said.

“I haven’t even fucked you once,” Tom Marvolo Riddle said.

The month Harry spent with Tom flashed through his brain. The familiarity with various aspects of kink and toys. Tom’s insistence on trainer as an honorific made sense as a trainer of Enigmatic Doms and subs. His avoidance of hard limits when another one of Voldemort’s followers would have used them against him. An understanding of muggles despite working with a cult of blood purists. Merlin, had Harry actually told Tom that he would make a good Dom?

“Harry, tell me he’s not—” Cedric broke off before he could finish his sentence.

Harry twisted and saw Cedric’s shocked face. How long had Cedric known Tom? _Topped together_, the bartender had said. They were both Enigmatic trainers, and members only got to that step after years. Had Cedric really not known who Tom was? Harry struggled to remember what parts of the interrogation Cedric had been involved in, but the only times he could remember had Cedric staying outside waiting for Harry.

“Maybe this is a conversation better had elsewhere,” Tom said. 

* * *

Harry looked around the familiar flat, staring at every nook and cranny to avoid meeting Tom’s eyes. The tension in the air was suffocating, and no one said a word.

“I suppose you have questions,” Tom said finally.

“Are you working with Voldemort?” It was the question that had been haunting Harry for months. 

“It depends on how you define Voldemort. We were the same person for a long time, and I can’t be not working with myself. However, the man you saw at the compound? No, I am not.”

“Do you know where he is?” 

“Wherever you go after you die.”

“You killed him?” Disbelief shook Harry’s world. 

“For decades, he’s been holding my life over my head, threatening to take it away at any point. Why would I let him live when I can finally obtain my freedom?” 

“Body location?” 

“I burnt the body with fiendfyre and scattered the ashes into the ocean. I can share the memory if needed.” 

“Why did Voldemort attack me when I was an infant?” 

“It was the period when he wanted to demoralize his opponents by attacking their families. The only person who can tell you what truly happened that night is dead though. Freak accident? Fate?” Tom shrugged.

“Why are you at Enigmatic?” Cedric asked. “You’re a blood purist. How did you even find it?” 

“Same as anyone else. Scouted and given an address.” Tom’s lips curved into a smile. “I like control. When I was created, Voldemort took all that control away from me. I lived for years in blank pages. It’s agony. True sensory deprivation as you feel each second pass slowly. When I finally had enough magic to materialise, Voldemort thought it was wonderful. A servant who wouldn’t betray him, who truly understood his vision.” He sneered. “I suppose you could call that my rebellious phase.”

“You went to kink clubs out of spite?” Harry blurted out.

“That makes it sound so childish, but yes, I suppose you could say that. I was a horrible Dom, and I would have stayed that way except a Dom, the owner of the club, said that I could either learn from him or find myself banned for life. He showed me proper etiquette. I had always been good at reading body language, one thing led to another, and I ended up in Enigmatic as a trainer.”

Cedric stared at Tom. “I need a drink,” he said finally.

Harry watched Cedric wander into the kitchen in search of something stronger than tea and turned back to Tom. “How much of what we did was real?” 

“All of it. I didn’t alter your memories.” 

“No, I mean, did you like what we did?” Harry cringed at how needy that sounded, but he needed to know. 

“Yes.” 

He held back a sigh of relief. There were still more answers he needed. “Why did you open Exhibitory?” 

“Voldemort wanted a base with a legal cover, and I suggested a place most wizards would find horrifying because heaven forbid if we engage in anything non-missionary.” Tom rolled his eyes. “The taboo nature appealed to his followers, and I had enough experience to ensure nothing overtly dangerous was happening. It was not done as a ploy to lure you in or whatever you’re thinking.” 

The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but Tom’s words reassured him all the same. Harry exhaled. “I want a scene.”

Tom met Harry’s eyes. “No. You’re confused by what happened. You relied on me for everything, and I’m good at what I do. It’s only reasonable that part of you would trust me and even want me after what I did. Maybe the fact that I have a sliver of your soul is affecting your judgment too.”

He scowled. “My judgment is fine, and don’t try to tell me you know me better than I know myself.” 

Tom ignored him. “Cedric, take your brat home and keep him there. We’re done here.” 

Cedric apparated them without warning. 

Fucking Doms. 

“I left you alone for two minutes. What happened?” Cedric demanded.

Harry shrugged and stared at his hands. 

“Don’t give me that. You have words. Use them.”

“I asked him for a scene,” Harry admitted. 

“Have you gone mad? You asked that man for a scene? After knowing who he is?” Cedric paced back and forth, agitation and magic rattling the furniture around them. 

Harry shrugged again.

“Fucking Enigmatic subs. You definitely fit in with that lot of bloody-minded manipulative risk takers.” 

This was as good a time as any. “You should probably know that I lied by omission too. I’ve been to Enigmatic before.” 

Cedric stopped and dropped to the chair in front of Harry. “When?” 

“A few years ago. I didn’t go much. Didn’t finish training.”

“Didn’t like it?” 

“Liked it too much. Anti-interrogation training doesn’t cover keeping secrets in subspace.”

Cedric let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I’ll suggest that in the next staff meeting. What did he say?” 

Harry had no trouble following the sudden leap in topic. “No. I guess you don’t need to worry.”

“You’re upset about that.” 

He shrugged. 

“Words,” Cedric reminded him sharply. 

“Yes,” Harry muttered. “Stupid, right? And then he said all that stuff about how my judgment was compromised because we spent non-consensual time together and I don’t know what I want. Arsehole.” 

“There’s a reason more than one sub at Enigmatic has cursed him out before,” Cedric said.

“Enigmatic,” Harry murmured. “So are you and him, you two, um—” 

“Together? No. Until yesterday, he was my preferred play partner if a sub required extra attention.” 

Images of the two of them together flashed through Harry’s head, and he tried not to let the sudden burst of arousal show. “But not anymore?”

“I could never play with someone who thinks it’s okay to kidnap people and use them against their will and _take a piece of their soul._”

“Apparently, you have more self-preservation than I do. Even after everything, my dick doesn’t want anyone but him. Neither does my brain. Not that it matters.” 

Cedric sighed. “You want some advice?” 

“Walk away? Thanks, I already knew that.” 

“Well, yes, that’s the reasonable thing to do. But if you belong in Enigmatic, you’re probably not going to. If I know Tom—I probably don’t, given everything we know now—he’s a controlling, bossy, overbearing arse, and he knows it. If you want him, be persistent. Push. Be aggressive. Let him know you know exactly what kind of person he is, and you want him despite, or because of, that.” Cedric scowled. “And be safe. Tell me where you’re going and when you’re going. Send me updates and check-ins. Leave if he ignores your hard limits.” 

A glimmer of amusement crawled through Harry. “Are you giving me the safe play speech?” 

“I am. Don’t make me regret this. Merlin, the DOM will string me up if they find out I’m condoning this.”

The DOM. Fuck.

* * *

It took Harry a week to dig out what the DOM had decided to do about Tom. In exchange for his testimonies against Voldemort’s followers, the DOM decided to not prosecute his crimes. However, Tom was essentially under a magic ban for the next year. They placed a tracer on his person that reported all use of magic to the agency, and any use of magic would be investigated. 

This didn’t mean that the DOM wouldn’t put him on indefinite leave if they found out he had eagerly leapt into bed with a known criminal. Harry still wasn’t sure he wanted to continue working for them, but he had nothing else in his life. He would deal with the outrage if they found out. Right now, he wasn’t even sure that he could convince Tom for a single scene.

He needed a plan. Part of Harry was tempted to break into Tom’s flat and plant himself in Tom’s bed until the idiot man heard him out, but he was sure that would lead to him being fried, magic ban or no magic ban.

So, instead of breaking in, Harry sat on the man’s doorstep, waiting for Tom to notice him. Any Unspeakable worth their weight in magic set perimeter wards around their home that alerted them whenever someone tried to enter. Harry had bet that Tom would design a way that let him check his surroundings, but after sitting here for three hours, he was beginning to doubt himself.

The door opened. Tom stepped into the hallway and glared down at him. “Get in before someone calls the police on a homeless stalker.” 

Harry scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pins and needles stabbing at him as his legs reawakened. When there was no wall separating him and Tom, Harry stared at the familiar face, and his prepared speech disappeared from his brain. “Hi,” Harry said. 

“Did you really spend three hours sitting outside to tell me that.”

“You already know what I want to say.” 

“And you already know my answer.” 

Harry scowled. “You don’t get to tell me what I’m thinking and then kick me out.” 

“Does Cedric let you talk to him like that?” 

“No, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not my Dom and not on the list of Doms I’m interested in. There’s only one name on that list, and I’m staring at him right now.” 

“Is that so.” 

“Yes. You’re going to sit down and listen. You owe me that much.” 

To Harry’s surprise. Tom actually obeyed without question. He sat on the sofa, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at Harry, waiting.

“We had a shitshow of a month together,” Harry began. “You kidnapped me, held me captive, and did things to me against my will. You made me beg and cry, and because of what happened, I still speak to a mind healer once every other week. Nothing will erase that, and I’m not even going to try to.

“However, you also did things that made my head explode—in a good way. I liked our nights together when we came here. And truth be told, I liked or liked-to-hate most of the things you did to me. Did you?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, do I have permission to speak now?” 

Harry stared at him flatly. “I’m pretty sure you’ve never asked for permission before doing anything in your life.” 

“You think you know me?” 

“I’m pretty sure I don’t actually. But I want to. Do you want to get to know me?” 

“I already know you.” 

“You know the man, not the sub.”

Tom cursed. “If I didn’t know you were an Enigmatic sub, I’d accuse you of trying to top from the bottom, and that’s not a kink of mine.” 

“If I ever top, it’ll be because you told me to. Show me your kinks. Make me beg, this time without the threat of death hanging over my head. Replace a bad experience with a good one and see how we go from there.”

“What makes you think that it’ll be a good experience for you?” Tom asked, his voice soft and menacing. “The things I did to you? I did like it. If you’re mine, I’ll spank you and tie you up. I’ll bring you to the edge of orgasm repeatedly and never let you fall over because I want you to always be hard and desperate.” 

Harry’s throat dried at the vivid images running through his mind. “Not a problem,” he rasped. 

“Think about your limits. Be sure. Because if it’s not on the list, I won’t stop.” 

Wordlessly, Harry handed him the card he had filled out in Enigmatic. 

Tom ran his eyes over it, and Harry saw the moment when he noticed the newest addition. “Whips?” 

He shrugged. 

“If you’re going to belong to me, you’ll obey my rules. First, you will give me a verbal response when I ask you a question.” Tom’s lips curved. “And you will call me sir.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry breathed, struggling to remember the original question.

“There’s something I want to add if we’re going to do this. Safewords. I know you’re familiar with them.”

Harry scowled. “Tom—” 

“Sir,” Tom corrected. 

Harry’s breath caught for a moment. The honorific wasn’t one trainers tend to use for casual one-night scenes. He tried not to hope that Tom was also looking for more. “Sir, I don’t need a safeword.”

“But I need you to have a safeword. Stop me if I go too far.”

Harry bit back another protest. “Fine. Are you familiar with the stop light system?” 

“Yes.”

“How long do you expect me to keep my safewords?”

“When do you have to work?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

“Then for tonight at least, and we’ll go from there.” Tom stepped away into the bedroom and came back with a file. He handed it to Harry. 

It was an Enigmatic contract. It meant that Tom was serious about being with Harry, even if it was a single night. Casual play at the club was covered by the contract everyone signed at the door, but anything more had another one between the play partners. This was the first time anyone had ever offered one to Harry, and his fingers had a death grip on the pages.

“Problem?” 

Harry shook his head wordlessly and forced himself to kneel on the carpet and use the glass coffee table as a hard surface. He grabbed a muggle pen from the silver snake pen holder and started filling out the contract, initialling and dating wherever indicated. When he was done, he handed the contract to Tom. It took Tom five minutes to sign his portions, and as Harry stared up at Tom, his cock began filling in his trousers. 

“I’m going to put this contract away. You have until I’m back to change your mind and leave. Otherwise, you’ll greet me here clothes off, on your knees, head down, hands behind your back.” 

He scrambled to strip and get into position as Tom’s steps faded from his line of sight. His heart pounded in his chest, and his fingers grew sweaty from where they gripped his forearms tightly behind his back. 

It shouldn’t have taken Tom a long time to put a few pieces of paper away, but Tom left Harry kneeling in place for at least thirty minutes. _Be sure,_ Tom had said. Was he 100% sure he wanted to be here? Definitely not. Harry thought about walking out of this flat and back to his safe life more than once. However, he knew that if he didn’t try this one night, he would regret it.

Footsteps headed in his direction. The anxiety that always happened just before a scene rose in him, and Harry tightened his grip on his forearms. 

Tom stopped in front of him. “Take off my boots.” 

He released his hands and reached out to undo the laces. The simple act of service settled his mind, and his breathing slowed as Tom stepped out of his boots. “Back into position.” 

Harry’s hands returned to his back, and he waited.

“You look beautiful on your knees,” he murmured. “I thought about you. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I came thinking about you.” 

Surprise made Harry jerk his head up at that. “You—” He broke off before he could talk more without permission. He didn’t know if the rules and exceptions from before applied, and the safest course of action was to not speak until he knew more.

“Yes?”

“You, um, never showed any indication that you were, uh, interested, sir.” His face burned, and he dropped his head again, grateful he didn’t have to face Tom.

“I figured penetrative sex was one thing I could try to not put you off from considering everything else I was doing to you. It was bad enough that I was going to ruin submission for you.” 

Confused, Harry risked eye contact. “You didn’t ruin anything.” He stared at Tom, hoping the man could see the sincerity in his eyes. 

“Didn’t I,” Tom murmured.

“You didn’t. If anything, you were the one good part out of that shite experience.”

“Oh, Harry. You should have walked away.” Tom cupped Harry’s face and moved his thumb in small circles. “I’m going to destroy you.” 

“You already tried. Look at how that turned out.”

Tom crouched down and pressed his lips against Harry’s. It was a sweeter kiss than Harry had imagined—and he was finally willing to admit that he had fantasised about this—but there was no doubt who was in control. Tom chose when to deepen the kiss. He pushed Harry back, making his back arch and his body unstable. His hands instinctively reached for Tom, scrabbling for a hold to steady him.

Strong arms lifted him up, and Harry found himself wrapping his legs around Tom’s waist to steady himself. His cock rubbed against the bulge in Tom’s trousers, and arousal rushed through him at the physical sign of interest. Tom did want this—want _him_.

Tom dumped him on the bed and stripped. Harry bounced a few times but made no move to steady himself or get up. His eyes lowered, avoiding eye contact as he waited. 

“Open your mouth. Tap my thigh twice if you want to safeword.” Tom fed his wrapped cock to Harry’s willing mouth. 

The taste of latex was familiar but old. Merlin, how long had it been? He was definitely out of practice, and though he wanted to, there was no way he would be able to swallow Tom’s entire cock. Harry sucked vigorously, running his tongue along the length and the head. Tom wrestled control away from Harry, a hand coming down to hold his head as he face-fucked Harry.

Tom’s cock hit the back of his throat and made Harry gag. Tears ran down his face as he struggled to breathe, but not once did he think about using his safeword. When black spots dotted his vision, Tom pulled out. Harry panted for air, spit running down the sides of his face, his mind flying high.

“Turn over,” Tom ordered, his voice harsh. 

It took Harry a moment to remember how bodies worked, and he fumbled for a moment before managing to flop on his belly. His hands gripped the smooth sheets tightly. Something cold hit his arse, and he squirmed before a hand spanked him harshly. 

“Be still,” Tom chided as he rubbed lube over his rim before inserting a finger. “What colour are you?” 

Harry pushed back and made no attempt to suppress his irritation at that question. “Green,” he grumbled.

Without warning, Tom inserted a second finger, making Harry hiss at the sudden stretch. “Watch your tone,” he said mildly like he wasn’t two fingers deep in Harry. He rubbed Harry’s prostate, driving a whimper out through Harry’s clenched teeth.

Harry buried his face into a pillow, trying to not let sounds escape. His body tensed, clenching down on the fingers, and struggled to resist rubbing his cock against the sheets. This wasn’t the first time Tom had fingered him—he’d needed to prep Harry for the large plugs he’d forced Harry to wear—but knowing that this would end with a real cock inside him made the experience more intense.

“Up on your knees, elbows down,” Tom said, pulling his fingers out. 

The emptiness in his arse made Harry keen, and it took him a moment to get his body under control enough to obey. This position, arse up and head down, cock hanging freely with none of the friction he so desperately craved, made it clear exactly what his role was.

Harry loved it. He was already beginning to feel well-used, with his throat raw, arse stretched, and cock hard. What was Tom going to do next? The anticipation made his cock leak and make a mess. He strained his ears, but Tom moved silently. 

A hard, blunt surface pressed against his hole suddenly and entered him at a steady speed. It was large, almost too large, with the hard, plastic feeling of a dildo. Tom worked it into Harry relentlessly, forcing Harry to take it. Finally, the entire dildo was inside him, and Harry clenched down repeatedly, getting used to the feeling of being plugged tightly again. 

“You’ve tightened up,” Tom commented. “Have you been with anyone since?”

“Tried, sir,” Harry grunted out. “Didn’t want anyone but you.” 

“When was your last orgasm?” 

“A week ago, sir.” Harry wasn’t comfortable masturbating when he had a flatmate, and knowing Cedric was just next door had stopped him from anything more than a few quick tugs in the shower with a soapy hand.

“Do you think I should let you come today?” 

“Does what I want matter?”

“Hmm. No. Don’t come without permission.” 

The dildo suddenly began to vibrate right against his prostate, sending pleasure crashing through his system. Harry dropped his head onto hands, which had fisted the sheets. A strangled shout tore its way out of Harry’s mouth. The vibrations increased a notch, and his body trembled as he struggled to hold the position. His orgasm approached, and Harry tightened his fists, driving his nails into his palms through the sheets as he tried not to come. “Please, sir,” he sobbed when he couldn’t take anymore. “Please let me be good for you.”

Tom sighed and tsked loudly. “Who was your trainer at Enigmatic? I’ll need to have a conversation with them about breaking subs in better.” 

Something about that sounded wrong, but he couldn’t find the mental power to think through what. “I’m sorry, sir,” he cried out. “I left before I finished my training.” 

“Then I suppose I’ll have to complete it. You have a choice, darling. I’m torn about whether I want to punish you”—the vibrations increased once more—“or watch you obey sweetly. This is the third setting. The highest one is up next. Can you take it for five minutes?” 

Harry couldn’t remember how to use his mouth, but it didn’t matter. The vibrator clicked up to the highest setting, moving against his prostate without mercy. He tried to count the seconds in his head, but numbers escaped him, and all Harry could do was hold on and try to be good. An eternity passed, and just as he was about to give in, the vibrations stopped. 

“Thank you, sir,” he rasped. “Thank you.” 

“Shh,” Tom soothed. “You were so good for me. Your submission is beautiful, Harry.” 

The words made Harry’s chest warm, and he felt himself floating. The agony of his aching knees and dripping cock begging to come was an afterthought, one easily ignored. 

“We’re going to have a little fun with impact play. No whips. What colour are you?” 

The irritation rose again, but Harry suppressed it. “Green, sir,” he said evenly. 

“Good boy.” 

He stiffened, arousal dying away a little. 

“You don’t like that.” 

“_He_ called me that.” There was no need to specify names; both of them knew exactly who Harry was talking about.

“Is it a hard limit you didn’t list?” 

“No, sir. I haven’t gotten any flashbacks, but I don’t want to be called that.” Telling a Dom dislikes could be the worst choice ever, but Harry had a feeling Tom would listen. 

“All right. I won’t do it again. Count for me, darling. This isn’t a punishment.” Tom’s hand came down hard on Harry’s arse. 

“One, sir,” he breathed. Tom’s hand rubbed the spot he had struck, soothing the pain before spanking him again. This was no easy warm up; the blows came down hard, distributed over his arse and his upper thighs. It hurt, of course, but the pain went straight to his cock as though a hand were stroking him. Harry rocked into the blows, asking silently for another one while counting aloud, and Tom didn’t reprimand him for moving.

“You turn a lovely red,” Tom praised. “You’ll bruise beautifully.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

A sudden tearing of plastic. “You have until I come to orgasm. If you don’t, you’re not coming tonight.” That was all the warning Tom gave before the head of his wrapped cock pushed in.

Harry was loose from the dildo, and he offered no resistance as Tom bottomed out. Tom spanked him again, making Harry clench. A groan escaped from his Dom, and Tom pulled out before thrusting inside again. Harry tried to tighten up, make it better for his Dom, and Tom rewarded him with another spank. He panted, revelling in the feeling of being filled by flesh rather than plastic. “So good, sir,” he moaned. 

“You’re so fucking good to me,” Tom breathed in between grunts. The praise pushed Harry over the edge. 

He came, hard enough that his vision blacked out for a few seconds, and his body threatened to collapse onto the bed. Tom’s thrusts grew erratic even as he nailed Harry’s prostate every time, sending sparks of pained overstimulation through him. A shout later, and Tom stilled, breaths coming hard. He pulled out of Harry with a groan and his warmth disappeared. 

“Need to toss the condom. I’ll be right back.” Tom brushed his lips over Tom’s head. A second later, he returned with a washcloth. “Lie with me.” 

Harry snuggled against his Dom as the man ran the warm washcloth over Harry, cleaning the mess of lube and come off his body. When Harry was clean, Tom tossed the cloth to the side and continued petting Harry lightly. His skin was warm, and Harry said as much sleepily before falling asleep in blissful comfort.

* * *

When he opened his eyes again, the room was dark, the lights turned off some time when Harry had been out. Tom’s arm had fallen lax around him, and Harry twisted to look up at his face. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady and slow. His face had the ageless quality of someone who could pass for anything between twenty and fifty, and he looked soft, like someone who didn’t deal with death and threats on a daily basis. 

Harry squirmed out of bed to go to the loo. His body ached deliciously, but his bladder was painfully full. He made his way past Tom’s clothes and turned the light on. His hair was a mess, pointing up in all directions. There was a bit of dried saliva on his cheek from where he had drooled. Definitely not attractive. 

He did his business quickly, gargled water to wash the dryness out of his mouth, and went back to the bed. Tom was still asleep. He could climb back into bed and hope Tom didn’t wake. However, the contract was for one night, and that night was over. Tom had made no comment about extending the contract to something more. 

Harry dressed in his clothes from the living room, left the flat, and apparated back to Cedric’s to replay last night in his bed, flatmate or no flatmate. He stared at the ceiling, thoughts of Tom working him open and playing his body like a master keeping him company. 

One particular memory struck out at him. _Who was your trainer at Enigmatic?_ Tom had asked him. 

Harry had only told Cedric that he was familiar with the club. How had Tom known that Harry had been trained, albeit not much?

A burning need for answers filled him, and Harry was about to apparate back to Tom’s flat when he realised that the arsehole would still be asleep at this time and he would need to work in a few hours. 

Satisfaction gone and frustration in its place, Harry took a hot shower, scrubbed his skin pink, and dressed in his Unspeakable robes. He threw himself into the developing spells, trying to ignore the itch for something more intense. Merlin, he’d just had a scene yesterday; he shouldn’t be craving adrenaline and action again so soon.

Harry had developed a grumpy reputation in recent months, and as a result, people tended to veer away from him. It meant that he could work in private, and normally he liked that, but now, he was craving any distraction, even if it meant rehashing the Voldemort case. The seconds ticked by slowly. He checked the time repeatedly. More than once, Harry thought about using a sick day and leaving early to confront Tom, but he didn’t want to risk the DOM looking into his activities.

Finally, his shift ended. Harry sped out of the agency and apparated to Tom’s flat. He pounded on the door. Belatedly, he realised that Tom might not be home, and Harry was about to break in when the door opened. 

“Harry,” Tom greeted, a smidgeon of surprise in his voice. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” 

“Because the contract was for one night?” 

“Because you ran away in the dark.”

Harry scowled. “I didn’t run away. I’m here, aren’t I?” He cut himself off before he could fall into meaningless banter with Tom. “You knew I was a member of Enigmatic.” 

“Yes, you arrived there with Cedric.” 

“No, you asked me who my trainer was. You expected me to have been trained already. Don’t lie to me. Not about this.” 

Wordlessly, Tom stepped aside, creating an opening for Harry to enter. It was a tight fit, and he rubbed against Tom as he stepped in. His cock threatened to rise, but Harry shut his arousal away.

“I became a trainer years ago at Enigmatic,” Tom began, “but for the most part, only until recently, I kept my identity hidden from the majority of the members. The other trainers knew my first name and my face, but when I was at the club, I wore a mask. I wasn’t about to drink Polyjuice for hours at a time.” He rolled his eyes at the thought. “One day, a sub came in. He was angry and scared, desperate for a fight that he didn’t want to win. And when I pushed him into subspace, he told a very interesting story.” 

Oh Merlin, Harry couldn’t stand here listening to this. He walked to the living room in a daze and sat on the couch. “I outed myself to you,” he breathed. How could he have been so stupid? Of all the Doms he could have been with, it had to be Tom. “I can’t believe—” He buried his head into his hands. 

“It wasn’t your fault. You were in subspace. I asked you a question, and you gave me an answer because that’s when your defences are down. You were new to the scene at that time, I’m guessing.” 

“Actually no, I don’t even have that excuse.” 

“You were still inexperienced when compared to other Enigmatic subs,” Tom said firmly, coming down beside Harry, “and I’m very good at what I do.”

“I guess now I know how you identified me as DOM agent straight away.” 

“Trust me, seeing you in Exhibitory almost surprised the magic out of me.” Tom chuckled and let his arm fall around Harry’s shoulders. Harry didn’t delude himself into thinking it was anything but intentional, but he snuggled against Tom anyway. 

“Where do we go from here?” he asked. 

“Where do you want to go?” 

“I want a contract.” He tilted his head up to scowl at Tom. “One where we ditch the safewords.” 

“One month with safewords, and we renegotiate from there,” Tom countered. “I’m not going to risk you panicking and unable to tell me.” 

One month. Harry could work with that. “Agreed.” 

Tom shifted Harry to the side and got up. He returned with another Enigmatic contract and gave Harry the pen to sign for the relationship he had been craving for half his life.

* * *

**One Year Later**

The thick blindfold blocked everything out, but Harry could hear the soft murmurs surrounding him as people appreciated Tom’s demonstration as he wove dark green hemp ropes around Harry’s body, creating an intricate netting and more, all working to hold him up and steady. A large knot held a thick plug inside his arse, rubbing against his prostate every time he involuntarily moved. Another one circled his hard cock, acting as a cock ring to stave off an impending orgasm. 

It had been two weeks since he last came. Tom had edged him every night, laughing when he broke Harry’s resolve and made him beg for an orgasm he knew he wouldn’t get. He delighted in making Harry lose control and curse him out, which only earned Harry a spanking that made his cock even harder.

Tom tugged on the rope, and the plug pushed deeper, rubbing his prostate. He stroked Harry’s cock a few times, a teasing touch that made Harry want to disobey his order to not move. If not for the gag in his mouth, Harry would have cursed Tom. His attitude had been the one thing Tom failed to train out of him, not that he tried.

The knowledge that there was no safe signal he could use to get out of the ropes or beg for Tom to stop was even better than these ropes. Their year-long contract was just a month shy of ending, and the eleven months of having his power stripped away from him had been glorious and terrible. Even now, bound and strung up, Harry could barely believe that Tom was _his._

Hands left his cock and ran over his body, rubbing the skin around the ropes. Harry flexed his muscles, checking for stiffness and tingling, but, as usual, Tom’s rope work was impeccable, and there was no risk of constricting his blood flow. 

“Beautiful work on a beautiful pet,” someone said to Tom, his voice familiar but Harry was too aroused to focus on anything more than ropes and sensation. 

After some more discussion with Tom and Daphne—who would have thought his DOM-assigned therapist would become his kink confidant?—Harry had agreed to list being called “boy” as a hard limit. It still irritated him that Voldemort had managed to get to him on the psychological level, but knowing that no one would ever call him that again settled Harry’s nerves enough to do a public scene.

“I thought I’d give him a reward after tormenting him for weeks,” Tom said. “Feel free to try to get him off. He has permission to come tonight as many times as he wants.”

Ha! The cock ring disagreed with that. Clearly, the stranger knew that too since the first thing he did was run his finger over the head of Harry’s cock, drawing out a muffled moan. Harry tried to fuck the hand holding him, but he couldn’t get enough leverage. 

“Do you mind if I fuck him with the plug?” 

“Give me a moment.” The ropes readjusted around him, freeing up the plug for a second before it was pushed back in. "Go ahead." 

The stranger set a fast pace, working the plug in and out. The lube was starting to dry, increasing the friction, but the discomfort wasn’t painful yet. Instead, it only served to increase Harry’s need. 

“Here,” Tom said. “Try this one.”

The toy was removed from his arse. Two fingers slick with lube slid into his loose hole, finger-fucking him. At first it felt cool and soothing, but the feeling of something heating up made Harry tense. The fingers withdrew from his arse and the blunt head of one of Tom’s larger dildos pushed inside him. The heat increased, and Harry tried to relax. 

A slap on his arse made him flinch and clench down, and Harry let out a yelp. He struggled, trying to get away, but there was no relief to be found. The stranger took out the dildo slowly, twisting it to make sure Harry felt all the ridges, before pushing it inside again harshly. 

“Hmm, I don’t think he’s coming yet,” the stranger said as he fucked Harry with the dildo.

Harry struggled to think past the haze clouding his mind and listen to Tom, but then, the damn thing started vibrating, and he let out another hoarse shout, his mind unable to think of anything but the need to come _now_. The dildo pushed up against his prostate and stayed in place no matter how much he tried to writhe and squirm. It clicked through the levels of vibration, sometimes so high that Harry thought he would die if he didn’t come, and other times low enough that he could have ignored it if not for the mint lube.

Suddenly, the constriction around his cock disappeared, and the vibrator increased to its highest intensity. Harry came with a shout. His orgasm went on and on, and when his cock finally fell limp, Harry slumped down, letting the ropes cradle him tightly. 

“I’m going to undo these now,” Tom murmured.

Harry let out a hum of agreement, the only communication he was capable of even without a gag. A body steadied him as the knots were worked free. When he was essentially half-standing, half leaning against a sturdy person, the gag and blindfold were removed. His face burned as he realised who the other person was. 

“Hi, sir,” he whispered to Cedric. How had he failed to identify his flatmate’s voice? 

The Unspeakable smiled down at him. “Hi, Harry. Go with your Dom now. I’ll clean up here.” Cedric’s growing acceptance of Harry’s relationship with Tom warmed him. The two of them weren’t friends, not that Harry knew of, but they were slowly starting to spend more time together without Harry needing to force them. 

Tom carried Harry away to the lower private rooms of Enigmatic. A condom wrapper tore, and Tom was inside him. “Did you like that?” he said as he took Harry sweetly.

“Yes, sir,” Harry breathed. They had discussed a threesome during contract negotiations, but Harry never thought it would be Cedric.

“Think you can come for me again?”

“I’ll try, sir. Whatever you want.” 

A hand worked around his cock. It hurt, his last orgasm too soon, but somehow, he became hard again. He rocked back, trying to urge Tom to go faster without demanding it, but Tom kept the slow pace. 

He did manage to come again, his second orgasm overtaking him by surprise. Tom pulled out, drawing a groan from Harry. He reached for his Tom, satisfied only when Tom returned and held him tightly, murmuring soft praise. His eyes shut, knowing he was safe in the arms of his Dom.

The next time he woke, Tom was still holding him, but he was also working. The paper on his head fell over his face, tickling his nose, and Harry reached up to scratch and brush the irritation away. Tom pulled him up and kissed him. “Are you with me, darling?” he asked when he pulled back.

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good. I wanted to discuss something with you.” 

Those words were never good. Harry twist around. “Sir?” 

“In one month, our contract is going to end.” 

If Tom said he wanted to bring safewords back because he still didn’t trust that Harry wanted this, Harry was going to slap him, punishment be damned.

Tom laughed. “It’s not what you’re thinking.” Instead, he folded the papers and handed them to Harry. “A preliminary contract. For you to think about. Take time and decide if this is what you want or if you have a counteroffer.” 

If Harry had to think, it probably wasn’t a simple additional year to their contract. Curious, Harry unfolded the contract. The length of time jumped out at him. His eyes widened. “This—” He couldn’t find the words. “You want—”

“Like I said, think about it. Talk it over with your friends. If you don’t want it, we can have another year or five or ten. I’m not going to force you.”

“Yes,” Harry said. “My answer is yes.” 

How could he say no to a lifetime?

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](https://bluepandawrites.tumblr.com/)!


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